


Coincidence or a Sign

by tylerisdun (lastmidtown)



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Midtown, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Acting AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, bill's a b list actor, bill's... himself, frerard is a power couple, gabe's a famous actor, gabe's kind of an asshole, hopefully, lots and lots of fluff, mostly gabilliam sorry, patrick's his assistant, pete's a director, ryden is as odd as ever, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastmidtown/pseuds/tylerisdun
Summary: William Beckett, a gay actor who keeps getting shuttled into B-List movies, scores the opportunity of a lifetime when he's cast opposite famous actor Gabe Saporta in Pete Wentz's latest film. The only problem? Gabe hates his guts. Sometimes fate has a funny way of bringing people together, though.





	1. Part I

Early morning. Nearing dawn. Most people with even an inch of sanity are tucked away in their comfortable beds, dreaming of vampires invading their apartments, or their crush finally returning their feelings, or showing up at school in their underwear. Unfortunately for me, my agent is not in this category of sane people. So, entirely against my will, I am stuck in my agent’s office, nursing a cup of coffee that I don’t particularly enjoy just to keep my eyes open.

 

“I’m so glad you could meet me this morning,” Jenny is saying. It takes everything in me not to call her Mrs. Wilkes, as she’s about my mother’s age. Early fifties, I’d guess. I’m not entirely sure. When I ask, she simply calls me rude and tells me she’s thirty-five. She’s constantly wearing a pair of cat’s eye glasses and peering down at me over the bridge of her nose. It gives me flashbacks of my childhood, so I am constantly apologizing to her for things I did not even do and she is constantly giving me confused looks. According to everyone who’s anyone, though, she is one of the best agents in all of Los Angeles with the most experience, so here I am at five-thirty AM, my ass planted firmly in one of her uncomfortable chairs. “I’m so glad you’re sitting down, Will, because I have the opportunity of a lifetime for you right here.”

 

I have informed her upon multiple occasions that the only person who calls me Will is my grandmother, who, bless her soul, is no longer present on this earth. So no one calls me Will. Unfortunately, Jenny doesn’t play by human rules, so she ignores every time I tell her this, just as I am preparing to ignore her pronouncement that she has the opportunity of a lifetime for me.

 

She has told me that she has the opportunity of a lifetime waiting for me on four separate occasions now. The first time, it was an audition for a soap, which I turned down on principle. As if they’d have wanted me anyways, skinny little effeminate boy, although to be fair I _can_ cry on command. The second time, she offered me an endorsement deal with Axe body spray. I show up for the commercial, find out she embellished my photo a little bit to make me look a little less twiggy, and get thrown out of the shoot. I’m sure you can see where this pattern is going, but the third time, she got me an audition as a stunt double in some pretty high-budget movie. This would have been very exciting if I had any sort of training in being a stunt double. As I’ve mentioned, though, I’m a skinny little effeminate boy and I got laughed out of the audition. Needless to say, my hopes aren’t too high right now.

 

I slump back in my chair, absentmindedly sipping at my coffee, until Jenny says, “I’ve got you an audition for Wentz’s new movie.”

 

Suddenly this meeting isn’t so boring and useless anymore. I nearly choke on my coffee, feeling it slosh around in my throat, and while trying to catch my breath, I stutter out something along the lines of “ _Pete_ Wentz?!”

 

“There aren’t many other Wentzs in Hollywood, now are there?” Jenny says, as if she doesn’t understand why I’m surprised. I’m sure she probably doesn’t. Jenny has connections with all the big Hollywood names. I’m willing to bet she goes to coffee with Leonardo DiCaprio at least twice a month and has Gerard Way on speed dial. Me, though, even throughout my acting career, the biggest celebrity I’ve had a run in with is when they threw me into a movie with this actor who was on a Disney Channel show back in the day and now was desperately trying to revive his career. Jenny rolls her eyes. “Yes, Pete Wentz’s movie. He’s directing, and I believe Gabe Saporta is starring in it, if you’ve heard of him?”

 

_Gabe Saporta._

 

I suddenly feel completely overwhelmed. Of course I’ve heard of Gabe; everyone in the whole fucking world has heard of Gabe. He’s everywhere: his face plastered on bulletin boards, his voice on the YouTube advertisements that pop up before the videos start, his smile on pretty much every magazine in America. He’s been nominated for more Oscars than I can count on one hand. He even won an Oscar before Leonardo DiCaprio. Back when I was first getting started in the industry, I watched his Oscar-award winning performance in _The World Has Its Shine._ It was my inspiration, my muse, my saving grace, like light from a lighthouse guiding me to shore on a dark night. And now I might have the chance to work with him.

 

 _Might,_ I scold myself. I’m getting all worked up about this, and it’s only an audition. There is a chance I could work with Gabe, yes. But that would mean I would have to absolutely _ace_ the audition. I’m sure the competition for this role is huge, bigger than anything I’ve faced in the entirety of my B-movie, straight to DVD career. I swallow, the bitter aftertaste of the coffee still present in my mouth. “When’s the audition?”

 

“Tomorrow night,” Jenny says casually.

 

“Tomorrow _night_?” I calculate quickly. That’s a mere 36 hours from this moment. 36 hours is all I have to prepare for the potential role of a lifetime. This could change my entire life, get me everything I’ve been dreaming of for years, and I have less than two days to prepare.

 

I’ve got to get out of here.

 

“I’m assuming it’s a cold read?” I ask quickly.

 

Jenny nods. “It’s a fairly new kind of movie. A romantic drama, sort of, but not the typical romantic drama. It’s a gay romantic drama. You’d be auditioning for the role of Gabe Saporta’s co-star and lover.”

 

The words float in through my ears, but my brain can’t process them. _Gabe Saporta_. _Co-star. Lover._ No part I have ever even auditioned for has been on this level. My head is spinning. I have to get out of here, get ready. I scramble out of my chair and kiss Jenny’s cheek on my way out the door, asking her to send me the rest of the details as I do so. I have 36 hours to get myself on the same level as Gabe Saporta and Pete Wentz.

 

I am going to do this. I _can_ do this.

 

Right?

 

.

 

I arrive at the audition feeling like shit. My stomach feels like there’s a pound of lead settling at the bottom, bouncing around every time I move, and I may have slept three hours last night at the most. I spent almost an hour in front of the mirror, practicing delivering a monologue just in case and trying to cover up the black circles under my eyes. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll switch the plot around to make it into a vampire rom-com, some Twilight style shit. I try to imagine Gabe Saporta playing Edward Cullen and almost snort, causing all the other people auditioning to shoot me a strange look. Right. I need to start studying the script, or else there’s no fucking way I’m getting this part.

 

The scene they’ve given us to read is pretty standard for a film featuring a gay character. It’s the scene where the gay kid tells his parents that he’s an adult now and will continue to live his gay old life with or without their blessing. I’ve seen it a hundred times, read it a hundred times. I’ve even lived it once. I tell myself it’s got to be just this one scene, that the rest of the play will make up for this goddamn cliche, and then I praise the heavens for giving me this scene that I can most certainly do with the most authentic of emotions.

 

It takes a while for them to get through the other guys, and then suddenly they’re calling me in. Everything’s pretty standard: hand over headshots and resume, get my picture taken and hope to God I didn’t blink, introduce myself, start reading the script. As I’m reading, though, memories wash over me, a wave of emotions I haven’t felt in years.

 

_“You realize you can’t ignore the gay thing forever,” I hear myself saying. Suddenly I’m twenty-one again, sitting on my parents’ couch, my hands grasping desperately at the couch beside me, trying to find something to anchor myself to in these stormy waters._

 

_My mom rolls her eyes. “Honestly, William dear, I’d say I’ve been doing a pretty fantastic job at it these past few weeks. It’s just another one of your phases. When you were five you were obsessed with dinosaurs. When you were twelve you were obsessed with roller coasters. And now you’re twenty-one and you’re obsessed with boys. You’ll grow out of it.”_

 

_“And if I don’t?” I challenge, my eyes boring down on hers, a wave of tumultuous pain boring down on me from this blatant rejection of my identity. I push it away. I can deal with it later. Right now I’ve got to win. I have to be acknowledged by her. I have to. “If I get a boyfriend? What will you do then?”_

 

_“Well, he won’t be allowed in this house, darling, so I pretty much won’t even know he exists,” my mother says, smiling a crooked smile in my direction. She knows this will hurt me. She knows how important family is to me, that not being able to bring my partner home to my parents will kill me inside. I swallow. I have to stay strong. I cannot waver. She has to know I’m serious about this._

 

_“Why? Because Jesus wouldn’t want him to be here?” I spit out, practically choking on the lump on my throat. “I’m sure that’s exactly the way Jesus lived his life, right. He told everyone to hide their dirty laundry in the closet. It’s not like he had his meals with prostitutes and sinners from all over the damn place. You know, for a Christian, Mom, sometimes I don’t think you read your Bible at all.”_

 

The sound of applause thrusts me back into reality. The dude manning the casting director’s chair with the awesome sideburns is clapping for me. Apparently I was reading the script, though I hardly remember it. I wipe my eyes, realizing I’ve watered a little which is a bit embarrassing, and give a half-smile. “Uh, thanks?”

 

“I sent the rest of the guys home,” Sideburns says with a grin. “Everything about them was super artificial. But you - you’re real, refreshing. Pete’s gonna love you. And me, by association, for finding you.”

 

“Refreshing.” I repeat the word, my head still in a flurry. This is a good thing, obviously, a very good thing, but I still don’t know what the hell it means. Pete must be Pete Wentz. He’s going to love me? I feel equal parts confused and excited, but I’m not sure what to say, so what comes out is, “Uh…”

 

“Shit, I didn’t introduce myself!” Sideburns curses, standing up off of the casting director’s chair. “I’m Patrick Stump. Pete’s right-hand man. Casting director, manager, whatever the fuck he needs me for, that’s me. And you, little man, are this movie’s newest star.”

 

For a second I feel somewhat offended because Patrick is _definitely_ shorter than me, and then I realize what he’s telling me, and it’s a hell of a lot more important than some height pissing competition. “I got the part?”

 

“Duh,” Patrick says. He looks me up and down, like he’s sizing me up for something. “You’re perfect. Pete’s going to love you, and so is Gabe, if he’d ever take his head out of his ass.” He glances down at my resume, and I wince. Here we go. “Says here you were in _Ages of Romance, Kiss at the End of the List, Mistletoe Warmers…_ ”

 

“A bunch of shitty B-list flicks,” I inform him. “No need to read the list. None of them are that impressive.”

 

Patrick laughs again. He doesn’t throw me out, like I expect him to, or ask me if I got lost because the audition for _Savants in Love_ is just around the corner. Instead, he says, “Guess this’ll be your breakout role, then.”

 

My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I want to tackle Patrick in a bear hug and then call Travie in tears, but instead I force myself to smile calmly and say, “Thank you so much.”

 

“Your contact info is on your resume, right?” Patrick says. “I’ll be in touch.” He winks. “But between you and me, welcome to the team, William.”

 

As soon as I get out, I call my manager, Mike. “Dude,” I say breathlessly when he picks up the phone. “You’ll never believe what the fuck just happened…”

 

.

 

The first day of filming is going to be the best day of my life. I repeat this to myself, over and over again, as I arrive at the filming destination. My breath is coming quicker than a horny teenage boy left alone in a room filled with high-budget porn. I bite my lip, try to force myself to just man up and go inside. It’s easier said than done.

 

As I make my way through the doors, a short man practically tackles me. Once he pulls away, it only takes me a couple of seconds to realize _holy fuck Pete Wentz is here in front of me and he just practically tackled me what the hell oh my God._

 

“Hi, you must be William Beckett,” Pete greets me enthusiastically. “Pat said you were perfect, but holy fucking shit, words couldn’t do it justice. You were just what I was imagining when I read the script. I’m sure Ryan, you know, our main writer, he’ll think so too.”

 

I blink. What I’ve read about Pete and who Pete actually is seem to be polar opposites. I can’t coalesce this talkative, enthusiastic ball of fire with the genius director I’ve read glowing reviews about. I’ve only known Pete for a couple of seconds now, but already I can tell he’ll be a lot to handle, but also that we’ll probably get along. “Hi, yes, uh, I’m William, I’m, well, I’m a huge fan. C-can’t believe I’m here to be honest with you.” I can feel red creeping up on my cheeks. Who’d have known I’d get so starstruck.

 

“You’re fucking adorable,” Pete says with a grin. I’m sure my blush gets even deeper. Even after all these years of acting, I’m still no good at accepting compliments. “Pat said you blew him at auditions. I mean, blew him away.” He snickers, and I’m pretty sure I’m redder than Pete’s shirt.

 

I feel like I’ve been set on fire. I wish I was on fire. Pete ruffles my hair. “Don’t be so serious, kid. Now come on, before we get started, you should probably meet Gabey Baby.”

 

 _Gabey Baby_ , I repeat in my head. This is all so ridiculous, hearing someone I look up to so much being referred to by such an infantilizing nickname by someone else I admire. And then it hits me that I am about to meet Gabe Saporta. Gabe Saporta, who I’ve been looking up for years, Gabe Saporta, for whom I thought the sun rose and set. And knowing my track record with meeting my idols, it’s going to be a complete disaster.

 

Not counting Pete, with whom I blushed and stammered, there were three other incidents: throwing up on my favorite author’s shoes at twelve, accidentally insulting a band member I adored at sixteen, and unknowingly flirting with my favorite model’s boyfriend at twenty-one. I’m just not meant to interact with celebrities, I guess. But it’s not like I have another choice.

 

Pete drags me by my sleeve across the set. I try to smile and wave at the crew, because I am of the belief that the supporting crew all too often goes unacknowledged on film sets despite their talent and perseverance, but Pete’s going a little too fast for me to do too much mingling. We end up at a trailer with _GABE SAPORTA_ carved into a golden star on the door. Pete grins and, without even knocking, bursts in. “Gabey Baby, how’s it hangin?”

 

“Pete, my man, I could’ve been fucking masturbating, holy shit,” comes a voice from across the trailer. I walk in sheepishly after Pete and my eyes fall upon Gabe in all of his six-four, born on October 11th glory, standing at the counter and sipping some coffee, his favorite beverage — I’m not a stalker, though, I swear.

 

My breath catches in my throat. I manage to squeak out that sounds vaguely like, “Hi.” I want to punch myself already. It’s been ten seconds.

 

Gabe raises his eyebrows at me, then glances over at Pete. “Uh, who the hell’s this, Wentz?”

 

“Your new co-star, man, I told you I’d be bringing him over today,” Pete says, sounding unconcerned. I, however, am very concerned. Gabe doesn’t sound happy in the least.

 

“I thought we agreed on Urie,” Gabe says. It sounds strained. I feel the panic spreading through me already.

 

“Urie had a prior commitment,” Pete replies in a manner that sounds extremely rehearsed, or like he’s making fun of someone, though of who I’m not sure.

 

“The kid’s smitten for Ross, don’t see how he could turn down the chance to work with him,” Gabe grumbles. He turns his dark eyes on me, searching me, looking for something. Whatever it is, I’m not sure he’ll find it. He finally says, “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I? You should probably get used to that, by the way. I’m Gabe. Your co-star.” It sounds mocking, biting.

 

“I k-know,” I manage. I hate myself all over again. “I’m William. William, uh, Beckett.”

 

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Gabe replies wryly. He turns back to Pete, setting down his mug roughly. “I’ve never heard of him.”

 

“Pat says he’s fantastic,” Pete says, as if I’m not even here. I really wish I wasn’t here. Maybe if I picture myself melting into a puddle hard enough I’ll just melt away.

 

“You might trust everything Patrick says, but I’m not sure I do,” Gabe shoots back.

 

Pete sighs. "You have to learn to trust me, Gabanti. Or at the very least, you could trust Patrick." He glances back at me, where I am still somewhat hidden. I don't really want to face Gabe, not after Gabe's little bitch fit. Unfortunately for me, though, Pete does not quite get this, because he says, "Well, I should be going. You two should spend some quality time together, eh? You're going to be playing lovers on screen, might as well at least be friends in real life too, huh? Make things a hell of a lot easier for everyone."

 

I sigh as Pete brushes past me, giving me a smile that looks like a good luck smile but feels more like I'm being sent to my death. I gulp, glance over at Gabe. "H-hi," I manage. I have already greeted him. This is starting off so fantastically I can't even put it into words. "Uh, well, you know I'm William."

 

"I know. You said that already.” Gabe doesn't look amused. "Look, William, what do you say we just tell Pete we're best friends or what the fuck ever so he'll leave us alone, and you can go fucking practice your lines in your own dressing room?"

 

"W-what?" I stammer out, staring at him. His hard expression doesn’t change. I don’t get what the hell is happening. I didn’t fuck up that badly, did I? “…did I say something?"

 

"Hey, you of all people should know that cheesy line that people always say in shitty B-list romance movies, right?" Gabe says sardonically. _Hasn’t heard of me, my ass,_ I think all of a sudden. Gabe knows exactly who the fuck I am. And he’s not happy about it. “It's not you, it's me. Well, that holds true right now. Give me my goddamn space, all right?"

 

"Sure," I manage, and scramble out of his trailer feeling utterly defeated. If it's even possible, I've reached a new low when it comes to meeting my idols. Never before have I managed to make someone I adore so much so thoroughly despise me in the span of about five minutes. I groan loudly and realize I have no idea where the fuck I'm going. I suppose Pete intended for Gabe to give me a tour, but Gabe's the worst tour guide ever. I bite down hard on my lip, hoping it won't leave a cut because my makeup artist would probably murder me, and start walking around aimlessly. I walk smack dab into a guy in a scarf and a vest that looks like an anachronism.

 

He wrinkles up his nose at me. "Thomas."

 

"Excuse me?" I say. Is everyone on this fucking set certifiably insane?

 

"You look just like Thomas," he says, a little more brightly, though his mouth is still twisted into a slight grimace. Only now do I remember that the character I'd read for in the auditions, the character I'd been cast as, is named Thomas. I wish I could smack myself without looking like a total fucking oddball.

 

I nod enthusiastically. "Well, yeah, I'm Thomas. I mean, I'm William, but I'm, uh, I'm playing Thomas. And you are...?"

 

"Ryan," the scarf guy says, almost smiling but not quite there. "My name's Ryan. I'm the head writer. Looks like Patrick, once again, was 100% spot on with his casting. Though I must say, you look completely lost."

 

I hang my head and mutter, "I got left, or, well, Pete left me with Gabe, and Gabe hates me." I feel like a child telling his parent about the feud he’d had with his sibling. It’s a little humiliating.

 

"Well, that won't do," Ryan says with a frown. "Gabe's a good actor and all, but you need to have some level of connection to play lovers. At least in my experience. So, uh, why does he hate you?”

 

"I don't know," I say morosely. I feel a little odd about spilling my guts to a person I met just a few minutes ago, but I don't have my phone and Pete wouldn't have great advice and I don't really want Patrick to regret his casting choices and cast someone else in the role of Thomas. That would suck ass. It took everything I had to get to this point. So, Ryan will have to do. And at least he seems sympathetic enough. "Pete literally just introduced me and immediately it was like, bam, total hatred, uh, at least from Gabe's side. He, uh, he said something about how they'd agreed on someone named, um, Urie?"

 

"Yeah, Brendon Urie. He's been in a bunch of Pete's shit. The Seventh Door, The Nightmare Room, etc," Ryan says, nodding in acknowledgment. "He was kind of our first choice, but he landed a role in this TV series and he can't get out of his contract, so no-go on that one. Gabe really likes Brendon, so maybe that's why." Ryan shrugs. "He'll warm up to you eventually. He's got to. Anyway, do you know where you're supposed to be?"

 

"No," I reply, feeling smaller and smaller by the minute.

 

Ryan pats me on the shoulder and says, "We'll go find Patrick or someone, all right?" He seems sympathetic, but I’m fairly certain he thinks I’m an idiot. I would think the same, though, to be honest.

 

We end up stopping by the food tables, which, holy shit, I have never seen so much delicious looking food in one place, and then happening upon my dressing room. Pete's waiting inside, and when I show up with Ryan he seems very confused. "Gabe?" he asks.

 

"Gabe was busy," I lie.

 

"He's being an asshole, isn't he," Pete says, frowning. "I don't know what the hell's gotten into him. He's not usually so picky about who he works with. But then again, this is a new thing for him. Just... give him time to adjust, okay?"

 

I'm not sure what Pete's talking about. It's not as though working on movies is a new thing for Gabe; Gabe's constantly working on movies. I parse through all his movies in my head. He's worked on romance movies, he's worked on comedy movies, he's worked on dramas, and he’s worked on action movies. What kind of movies has he not worked in?

 

Oh.

 

Gabe's never worked on a gay movie.

 

It hits me like a ton of bricks. I think I understand a little bit, finally, of what's going on in that superstar's head. Still, he doesn't have to fucking take it out on me. I'm just a little nobody. A tiny star in comparison to the great big sun.

 

"He wasn't that bad," I lie again. "I'm sure it'll all work out." This last part, at least, is not a lie. If Gabe gets time to warm up to me, maybe he'll like me.

 

Maybe. I'm not that bad, am I? And besides, I don’t really want to tell my manager that I’ve already completely fucked up the movie on the first day of shooting.

 

.

 

The rest of the day is spent taking me around to visit everyone on set. I’m introduced to Ryan again for some reason, Patrick again for some reason, the makeup girl Julie, my hairstylist Jamie, the supporting cast (consisting of Amy, Alex, Nate, Jon, and a whole bunch of people I’ll hopefully remember the next time I hear their names), the lighting crew, the sound crew, the film crew, and even some of the food delivery guys. I talk to so many people, but still there is one person I don’t even have a second of interaction with, and that person is Gabriel Saporta.

 

If I hadn’t heard Patrick whisper something to Pete about Gabe’s complaints about the meal options on set, I might’ve even thought that Gabe wasn’t here today. Unfortunately, my good luck in being able to avoid Gabe had to run out eventually. Like in one of the shitty B-list movies I’d been so fortunate to star in, I crash into him as I speed around a corner. I’d been hoping to say goodbye to Pete and Patrick before I head home for the day. Now I’m stuck in a conversation with the last person I want to converse with.

 

He stares at me like I’ve just walked out of a tear in the time-space continuum. “Beckett,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Probably should watch where you’re going. Almost broke the most valuable thing here.”

 

I feel the nerves running through me again. I’m not used to talking to Gabe still, and he’s been one of my favorite celebrities for so long it’s hard for me to write him off as an asshole and not care what he thinks of me. I breathe in and manage to say, “It’s, well, it’s hard for me to avoid you when your body takes up half the hallway.” There. That’s pretty witty, if I do say so myself.

 

I meet his eyes and I swear for half a second I see his lips curve up into a smile. Almost as quickly as it came, though, it’s gone. “I know you’re not calling me fat. If you were, though, I’d recommend a vision test. You _are_ getting health insurance for this film, right?”

 

“You’re just really tall,” I say. Well. That’s not a fucking insult, William, for God’s sake. I try again. “Like a redwood. The tallest trees on earth.” _What in the ever loving hell is coming out of my mouth right now._

 

Gabe gives me a confused look. If I was back in middle school, I’d say this was a positive thing, since I’m throwing the bully off of his game. For an adult actor, though, I think it just makes me look a bit like a weirdo. “Dude, you’re like two inches shorter than me.”

 

“Right,” I say. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Don’t say any more dumb shit.

 

“Look,” he says, leaning against the wall. He doesn’t look angry, though, and I’m like ten percent less scared that he’ll blacklist me from the industry if I say one more thing. “I’m an asshole.”

 

“Right,” I say again, almost automatically, because _well it’s true am I supposed to deny it_. He glares at me, and I mumble, “Sorry.”

 

“It’s nothing personal, kid, all right? I just wanted Urie. Woulda been more comfortable. And no offense, I just don’t know if you’ve got what it takes.” He glances at me, his eyes looking like they’re searching for something again. Unfortunately, I don’t know what it is.

 

I remind myself he’s new to this whole gay thing, even if it’s just for a movie. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it. Everyone knows. Probably even the cashier at the McDonalds near my house. I’m not fantastic at hiding it.

 

“N-nothing personal, right,” I say. _He’s trying to come to terms with this movie, you ought to be nice…_ oh, fuck it. “It has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve only been in shitty B-list romance movies and you doubt my acting abilities. You don’t think that I can live up to your performance. You ‘don’t think I’ve got what it takes’. News flash, _Saporta_ , not all of us got a hand up from our famous friends. I’m trying to work my way up in the, well, the industry, and I got fucked over because I’m gay. I keep getting put into shitty ass roles because ‘gay guys can’t play straight roles’. Doesn’t mean I’m not as good an actor as you are.”

 

Silence.

 

For a second, Gabe looks stricken, like something I’ve said has resonated with him. He just shakes his head, though, and looks at me dead-on, his brown eyes hardened. “You don’t know shit about me, Beckett.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” I say, the words flying out of my mouth before I can stop them. “October 11th is your birthday. Born in Uruguay. Your family’s Jewish. You’ve got a brother and two step-siblings. I could go on…”

 

“You’re a fucking stalker,” Gabe says, but he doesn’t look as scared or sound as upset as I thought he’d be. As scared as I’d be if someone knew all that shit about me. Maybe he’s used to it. He’s got to have a ton of stalkers.

 

I give a half-smile. “Yeah, well, what can I say, I’m a fan. Correction - I _was_ a fan.”

 

Gabe doesn’t say anything as I sigh and walk away. I don’t really think there’s really anything left to say. We’ve said too much already.

 

.

 

Filming starts the next day, so I’m there bright and early, at Mike’s insistence. So is Gabe, of course; he wouldn’t have gotten this far in the industry if he were unprofessional in that manner. He’s fidgeting a lot. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a fidgeter, but his hands and arms seem to be in constant motion. Pete groans. “Cut it out, Saporta. You should be getting into character, not trying to get a full day’s workout for both your hands.”

 

“Maybe the suave bad boy gets nervous too. Did you ever think of that, Wentz?” Gabe retorts, but there’s no real venom behind it. Pete and Gabe have worked together on quite a few movies, I know, and they seem pretty close. In a way, I’m envious. I’m too new to have that kind of close relationship with anyone in the industry, much less Pete Wentz. Maybe someday, I think.

 

Pete just rolls his eyes. “We’re gonna start off with some of the flashback shit, but, well, they should’ve told you that already. You’re both due in hair and makeup.”

 

“Right,” Gabe says. “Gotta get ready for my gay discovery scene with some straight out of beauty school kid who looks like the fucked-up love child of a lumberjack and an emo teen.” I almost snort, trying to picture it, but I don’t want to give Gabe the satisfaction. Yes, I am in third grade again, thanks for asking.

 

“He’s RyRo’s best friend, so take it up with him if you’ve got that big of a problem,” Pete tells him, punching him lightly on the arm. “Now fuck off, Saporta, before I fire you.”

 

“You could never get anyone to replace me,” Gabe sing-songs. I start to walk away before I can say some more dumb shit and get my ass handed to me by both Gabe and Pete.

 

“Go on, Gabey Baby, be a good boy like your co-star and haul your ass to hair and makeup,” Pete says. I hear Gabe’s breath hitch. I don’t even need to turn around to see the stony stare he’s probably sending my direction. And I’m not even trying to piss him off.

 

Small consolations: at least I’m not shooting with Gabe today.

 

.

 

When I get home from shooting, it only takes about five seconds of lounging around on the couch before my ringing cellphone interrupts my relaxation time. I groan and grab my phone. One glance at the screen confirms it is, in fact, exactly who I thought it’d be. “Hey, Travie.”

 

“Bill, what the fuck?” Travie says immediately. “I thought we had something, man. Or are you, what, too cool for me or some shit now? Hell nah, we’re brothers. Brothers tell brothers about shit. Especially when it involves filming with Gabe motherfucking Saporta. Man, I might be straight as a ruler, but I’d be a bendy ruler for that bad boy.”

 

I groan. “Are you finished?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Travie replies. “What’s up, dude? You don’t sound so good. I thought you’d be psyched. I mean, you’re filming with _Gabe Saporta_ —“

 

“Can we not talk about Gabe?” I try not to come off as too snappy, but reminiscing on the days I’ve had, especially the moments involving Gabe, won’t do any good for either of us.

 

“You fuckin’ love Gabe, Bill, come off that shit,” Travie says, sounding as confused as I feel. He’s right. Before I met Gabe, I’d talk Travie’s ears off for hours about Gabe’s movies and acting talent and all his best scenes. Now there’s nothing I’d rather talk about less than dumbass Gabe. I guess it’s true what they say about becoming jaded once you meet your idols. For once, I’m grateful Freddie Mercury is dead.

 

“You haven’t met the man, Travie,” I complain. “He hates me.”

 

“Just cause he didn’t make eye contact with you while you were peeing in the urinals doesn’t mean he hates you,” Travie says, stifling a laugh. “Straight men don’t do none of that, all right?”

 

“Gay men don’t either, so shut the fuck up,” I tell him. I love Travie, and he’s the most accepting person I know, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times I want to slap him. “This isn’t another one of those _he didn’t look at me so he hates me_ things. He really fucking hates me, dude. He thinks I’m not worthy since I haven’t been nominated for eighty-two Oscars and my net worth isn’t in the millions.”

 

“So he’s an asshole,” Travie says. “So what? He’s talented anyways. Just get through these next few weeks. Maybe he’ll warm up to you. Maybe he won’t. Who the fuck cares? You’ll get famous and hopefully you’ll never have to work with him again.”

 

He’s got a point. I hate to admit it, but he does. I’m glad he called, really; he’s one of my more level-headed friends - Sisky probably would’ve just made fun of me for a good ten to twenty minutes, which, while sometimes needed to contain my ego, wouldn’t have been especially helpful. I sigh. “Thanks, dude. I owe you one.”

 

“Always,” Travie says loyally. “Now let’s talk about the ladies. I know the movie’s mostly about dudes, but I googled some of the girls in your movie - that one girl, Amy…”

 

.

 

The next three days are spent still working on the flashback scenes, so interaction with Gabe is kept to a minimum, much to my relief. Sometimes when I’m filming I can feel his glare practically burning a hole through me. I ignore it, though — what else can I do? Start another fight with the entirety of the crew watching? Call him out again and get on the Hollywood blacklist? I even try smiling at him, but he grimaces back. I never thought my movies were bad enough to make someone hate me _this_ much, although I’m still hoping it’s his straight man insecurity and not me specifically.

 

On the fourth day, though, they decide it’s time to start shooting the ‘meeting’ scene, aka the scene where, in case it weren’t obvious enough, our two characters meet. It’s a fairly cliche little thing. My clumsy ass character, Thomas, who works as a barista, dumps the entirety of his coffee all over Lionel, Gabe’s businessman character, and his fancy suit. Lionel’s a bit of an asshole in the beginning. It seems all too familiar.

 

I’m not too thrilled that I have to start actually working with Gabe, but ah well, we both knew this day was coming. As we awkwardly stand around on set, waiting to film, Gabe remarks, “I bet you’re thrilled you get to spill your coffee all over me.”

 

“I’d do it even if it weren’t for a scene,” I say, feeling a little more comfortable bantering with Gabe now that we’re actually filming and they can’t just cut me out of the movie.

 

“Right, but if it weren’t for a scene, you’d probably use hot coffee instead of cold,” Gabe says with a smirk. “Give me those third degree burns.”

 

“I doubt coffee could give you a third degree burn,” I shoot back.

 

“You’d find a fuckin way, Beckett,” Gabe says. “You might look innocent, but I can tell you’ve got a few cunning bones in that skinny ass body of yours.”

 

This banter is starting to feel a little less hostile and a little more familiar. I’m not entirely comfortable with it. I’m still not exactly Gabe’s biggest fan. Well, I mean I am of his acting, but his personality is still horrible. I don’t want any kind of easy familiarity with him just yet. I just give a non-committal noise in response and pull out my cellphone, firing off a quick text to Travie about the miniskirt Amy’s wearing for filming today. It doesn’t do much for me, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.

 

Gabe’s posture is much more rigid by the time we start filming. He keeps shooting quick glares at me, even when he knows I’m looking. I ignore him as best I can and get into character. Time to carry Lionel’s coffee out to him.

 

Gabe plays hostility very well. Lionel’s biting words seem authentic, and with the way he’s glaring at me I’m almost convinced that he hates every bone in my body. He very well could. I wonder if he can play the flirtation and the love half as well, though, especially considering the lack of foundation for either we’ve developed.

 

Once we finish filming the scene, in a surprisingly low number of takes, Gabe vanishes without even a glance back at me. Patrick, who’s helping out with the production duties, gives a low whistle. “Things are still bad with you and Gabe, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” I sigh, walking over to him. “I mean, on one hand, he’s kind of an asshole, so I don’t really want to get to know him, but on the other hand, it’d be better for the movie if we didn’t hate each other, right? I don’t know what the hell to do.”

 

“I’ve known the dude for years now,” Patrick says wisely. “He’s an asshole, sure, but he’s not an unlovable asshole. I think he’s just afraid of… of a lot of shit, and he’s taking it out on you cause it’s easy. And I think you should try, at least, to be friends or acquaintances or something. Cause this cold shoulder stuff is gonna blow up pretty soon.”

 

“Thanks, Patrick. That’s actually really helpful,” I say, genuinely meaning it. Patrick, at least, seems like a good guy, the type I’d be friends with even outside of the movie. I really do like the cast and crew of this movie. The only barrier is Gabe.

 

I bid Patrick a quick farewell and hurry over to Gabe’s trailer. At my knock, I hear, “Who the fuck? No one knocks in this day and age.”

 

I push the door open sheepishly and give him a half-smile. He gives me a quizzical look but says, “Uh, come in, I guess.”

 

“Look, I just wanted to say I was a bit of an asshole when we were filming, and I’m sorry if I upset you,” I tell him, stepping into his trailer. “Uh, yeah, that’s all. Sorry. I… I don’t want filming this to be a really unpleasant experience for me. And you. And uh, everyone.”

 

Gabe just lifts an eyebrow at me. “You’re serious?”

 

“Um, yes?” Yes, I’m serious, you son of a bitch. I’m here trying to apologize and here you are making this into a fucking joke. I grit my teeth. _I’m here to make this better_ , I remind myself.

 

My temper flares up again, though, because Gabe just laughs. When I give him a confused glare, he says, “You’re apologizing to me? I’ve been an asshole to you ever since you arrived on set and you happen to be mean back to me _once_ and now you’re apologizing to me? That’s a little backwards.”

 

“I just want us to get along,” I groan, leaning back against the metal wall of his trailer. “I really don’t give a fuck if we’re best friends or not, but at least getting along would help us a whole damn lot in the scenes to come, all right?”

 

Gabe looks like he’s deep in thought. It’s a look I’ve seen a million times in his movies, one of the looks he’s most famous for, and I can’t really tell if he’s seriously thinking or if he’s just acting. He finally says, “You’re right. I’ve been dealing with my own shit and I’ve been hard to deal with because of it. Let’s just… start over.”

 

“Uh… okay,” I say, blinking at him, and then extending a hand. “I’m William Beckett.”

 

“Fucking nerd,” Gabe says with a laugh, but there’s no real hostility behind it, at least I don’t think. He shakes my hand. A firm handshake. I’m impressed. “I’m Gabe Saporta. Nice to meet ya. Do you, uh, do you go by any nicknames?”

 

“Bill,” I say. “Mostly. Uh, not much else.” I don’t mention the shitty ass nicknames Sisky and Travie call me. We’re not on that level.

 

“That’s fucking boring,” Gabe says. “No offense. But come on, when I hear Bill, I think of some white-ass goddamn grandpa. What about… Bilvy?”

 

I snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

 

“Ridiculous works… for you, Bilvy,” Gabe declares, grinning at me, a smile I have yet to be on the receiving end of. My heart warms. I feel like I might actually pass out. _Holy shit Gabe Saporta just smiled at me I might explode._

 

Fuck. Fucking fuck shit. I’m so fucking screwed.

 

.

 

Rehearsal from then on is in some ways easier, in some ways harder. Gabe and I get along pretty well, actually, when Gabe isn’t seething with hatred for me for whatever reason that he still hasn’t explained. Pretending to be falling in love with him is easier than I could have imagined. Oh, and by the way, Gabe Saporta is fantastic at flirting. A bat of those big brown eyes, a curl of his tongue, and anyone would be putty in his hands. So really, I never stood a chance.

 

“Bilvy,” he says one of the first days after our little talk, after rehearsal, hooking his elbow around mine. Patrick gives me a look that says what the _hell_ is going on here, to which i just give a slight shrug in reply. I’m not even really sure myself. I glance over at him, eyes wondering, and he continues, “We should go get coffee.”

 

“That’s ironic,” I reply, the corner of my mouth turning up slightly.

 

“Only if you promise not to spill it on me,” he says, sounding serious, but his eyes give away his mirth. “My treat, okay?”

 

“Sure,” I answer. There’s no real reason not to go. It’ll probably aid us in our quest to get along better, really. Plus, I’m always game for free coffee, though given the amount this movie’s paying, money shouldn’t be an object for a while at least.

 

He drags me to some little place down the street. I’m glad, at least, that he hasn’t taken me to a chain coffee shop. This place looks to be locally owned and the owners greet him warmly as he comes in. “Gabe,” the woman behind the counter admonishes. “It’s been too fucking long! I know you’ve been in town for at least a week now - why haven’t you come to see us?!”

 

“Oh, shut it, at least I’m here now,” he says, hugging her tightly. I almost feel as though I should look away, like there’s something private and sacred in the moment. He steps back, though, and motions to me. “VickyT, this is my new co-star, William. William, this is my good friend Vicky.”

 

I shake Vicky’s hand and notice Vicky raising her eyebrows at Gabe meaningfully, though what meaning exactly I can’t extract. She grins. “What can I get for you boys today?”

 

Gabe orders us some shit with barely any coffee and tons of sugar, but hey, I’m not complaining. I grab a booth in the corner. When Gabe comes over and slides a coffee drink over towards me, he’s grinning from ear to ear. I stare at him, and he just says, “It’s always good to see old friends.”

 

“You seem to know a lot of people,” I remark.

 

“What can I say? I’m a lovable person,” Gabe says lightly, sipping at his drink. I roll my eyes, but I’m not annoyed, really. It’s just Gabe being… well, Gabe. And it’s a hell of a lot less annoying than Gabe acting like he wants me dead.

 

Everything goes well for the majority of the “coffee date”. Gabe tells me about his history as an actor, and doesn’t even act annoyed when I ask him for behind-the-scenes details about some of my favorite films. I’m thinking I really enjoy hanging out with him when it all suddenly comes crashing down.

 

Vicky comes over to offer us some complimentary cookies, which is really very thoughtful of her, and she says, “I hope you two are having a good date,” with an over exaggerated wink. I kind of laugh it off, because even if there is a part of me that I’ll never talk about that’s interested in Gabe, Gabe would never be interested in me. First of all, he’s straight, but even if he weren’t, there’d be a million attractive actor guys on his list above me, I’m sure. Gerard Way, for one — he’s attractive, gay, and well, yeah, he’s taken, but that could always change. I open my mouth to say something along those lines, but I’m cut off by Gabe.

 

Something along the lines of “no what the fuck I’m not gay ew we’re just friends” falls out of Gabe’s mouth in a flurry, and he pushes his chair back to get as far away from me as possible, like I have cooties or something. Vicky and I give him surprised looks, then glance at each other in a concerned and confused way. This overreaction seems a little intense. I’m not sure I completely understand what’s going on in Gabe’s head.

 

“Well, that’s fine too. Friend dates are always a good time,” Vicky offers with a hesitant smile. She sets down the cookies and walks away quickly. If even she, who has clearly known Gabe for a longer period of time than I have, cannot figure him and his insecurities out, I don’t stand a chance.

 

Gabe is staring at me when I glance over at him, but he turns away faster than the speed of light practically as soon as I turn around. I say, “These cookies are super warm,” and cradle one of the chocolate chip cookies in my hand. It even feels delicious. I’m in love with this place.

 

Gabe just nods. He picks up one of the cookies and shoves it in his mouth, and then, without even a second to breathe, takes a sip of his coffee. He repeats the cycle with the rest of the cookies that I don’t claim, making sure he hasn’t got even a second to communicate with me. It’s one of the most awkward things I’ve ever experienced, almost as bad as the time my grandma dragged me to her church and I let it slip at the proceeding luncheon to her blue-haired friends that I preferred men. And this time… well, it could be the same thing. Maybe Gabe’s homophobic and doesn’t want people to think he could even be associated with a gay guy. Or maybe he’s insecure about his own sexuality. Or maybe he’s still freaking out about this movie and the accompanying rumors. But he’d been doing so well! I hate to think our friendship could have been ruined by a single stray comment.

 

Once we finish up and head outside, I ask him, “Is, uh, is everything okay?”

 

He blinks. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Of course.”

 

“Doesn’t seem like you want to talk to me,” I say carefully.

 

“No, it’s all fine,” he says. But he angles himself towards the street on the walk home and hardly speaks a word to me.

 

.

 

By the next day, Gabe seems to have gotten over his little bitch fit because he’s speaking to me again, at least. He regales me with a tale of his epic drive to work, in which he stopped to rescue a squirrel and talk to a hitchhiker. I don’t believe a word he says, but it’s amusing nonetheless. One thing is still off, though. I’ve noticed over the past few weeks that Gabe Saporta is very bad at noticing personal space boundaries. He’d kiss Patrick on the cheek, jump on Ryan’s back, and grab Pete’s hands. Over the brief days of our acquaintanceship where we didn’t hate each other, he’d touched me quite a few times - brief hand brushes, linking elbows, grabbing my hand to drag me somewhere. Now it’s like I have a communicable disease. He’s constantly and obviously avoiding touching me. I feel like a fucking leper or something. It’s not a good feeling.

 

It’s a weird question to ask, though - “why aren’t you touching me?” - so I don’t ask it. It rolls around in my head, though. The worst part is, I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong. At least in the past, with people who have been angry with me, there’s been a reason, like my short-lived ‘girlfriend’ in sixth grade who I cheated on with a boy accidentally, or the fucker in high school who punched me because he thought I was flirting with his girlfriend. I didn’t flirt, or cheat, or lie. I was just myself. Maybe that’s bad enough.

 

During our scene, though, he has to touch me, since we’re flirting. He’s supposed to naturally rest a hand on my arm. Instead, though, his movements are robotic, and his hand on my arm feels stiff. Pete is less than pleased. “Saporta, you’re a professional.”

 

“You know it, baby,” Gabe says, but it’s not his usual confident tone.

 

“Take ten and figure this shit out.” Pete shoots me a look that says something along the lines of _go talk to him_ , and I give him a desperate look back because I’ve known Gabe all of a couple weeks or so and he’s hated me for most of the time so how can I know how to help him. After a little more Pete glaring, though, I give in and follow Gabe to an area near his trailer.

 

“Look,” I say, sitting down beside him on the ground. “You don’t know me well, I get that. I don’t know you well either. But if something’s wrong, I’m here to listen. I’m a pretty trustworthy dude, according to my friends at least. And I get how rough the industry can be. Maybe not in the same way you do, but well, uh, I get it a little bit at least. And if I did something wrong, I can try and fix it. Just tell me what’s going on.”

 

Gabe just sighs, running a hand through his short curls. I try not to think about his long, spindly fingers. That thought can’t go anywhere good. He looks at me, then turns his head away. “I don’t know if I can talk to you about it.”

 

“I can go find someone else,” I offer, preparing to get to my feet. Even better. Help Gabe, and not have this awkward conversation about whatever the fuck it is I did. It’s a win-win situation.

 

“No,” Gabe says. “I’ve been weird. I owe you an explanation. Uh, sit down.” I’m a little suspicious about this, but I sit back down nonetheless. I’m not that much of an asshole. I won’t leave a brother in need behind. He sighs. “Uh, okay. So the reason I didn’t really want to talk to you about this is that you’re, I don’t know, used to this.”

 

“Used to what?” I question. I don’t see anything that fundamentally different between me and Gabe. He should be more used to acting, if that’s what he means. He’s been acting much longer than me, and he’s much better at acting than me.

 

“To, uh...” Gabe chews on his lip nervously, and it hits me what he’s talking about all of a sudden. Somehow I keep forgetting about this very big, very obvious problem.

 

“To playing a gay character,” I finish for him.

 

“Exactly,” Gabe says, still somewhat quietly. “I know it’s not a big deal. I’m straight and no way in hell is playing a gay character gonna change that. But still. I’m not used to, uh, people thinking I’m gay, no offense. And when it was Brendon, it was okay, because he’s bi and he’s my friend and I guess I’m more comfortable with him.”

 

I glance up at him, suddenly feeling a little offended. “Is something wrong with me?”

 

“Not really,” he says. “Just... I didn’t know you, and after the romance you had with Tom, I didn’t want people to think...”

 

It hits me what he’s saying all of a sudden. I blink. There was a part of me - the part of me that’s still actively suppressing every memory of Tom - that didn’t want him to know about Tom. I don’t think about it. I don’t talk about it. It’s as if it never happened, at least in my mind. But it was a big thing in the media. Two gay guys co-star in a movie together, fall in love, just like their characters. We were the power couple of the B-movie industry. And then he cheated on me with one of the hair and makeup guys.

 

I don’t think about it. I don’t fucking think about it.

 

“Makes sense,” I say at last. There’s an edge to my voice I don’t want to be there. I don’t want him to think that I’m sensitive about talking about it. I’m not. I don’t think about it.

 

He sighs, stares at the floor like it holds the secrets to get out of this mess. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Bilvy. You’re a motherfucking angel. If that makes you feel any better.” He turns and looks at me, the corner of his mouth turning up. Light is spilling through over the top of the wall, framing his face in a halo of yellow light. My breath catches in my throat. My head spins. I think he’s wrong. He’s the fucking angel.

 

I’m melting. The words in my brain are all jumbled up. Nothing makes sense any more, except one thing - I have a crush on Gabe Saporta.

 

Gabe Saporta, the world-famous actor, my co-star, and a very, very straight man.

 

I’m so fucked.

 

Gabe clears his throat, breaking me out of my quickly crashing train of thought. I say, “Uh, it’ll get better, I swear. You’ll stop caring so much about what irrelevant people think. You’re much better than them, anyways.” Holy shit, that was obvious. Did he notice?

 

Gabe grins. “Thanks, Bilvy.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and my skin fucking burns. I’m going to die. “You’re the greatest.”

 

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling anything but thankful. “I mean, no problem. I mean, we should get back.” I leap up, and he stands up slowly after me, confusion etched in his perfect features. I take off, blinking rapidly to get the unhelpful images of Gabe in various positions out of my mind.

 

I’ve never hated myself so much.


	2. Part II

Gabe doesn’t ask me about my weird behavior, which I appreciate, since I don’t really know what I would tell him. Straight guys don’t really take well to a gay guy saying they’re attracted to them. I’ve learned this from personal experience. After graduating from college, I met a guy at my day job, found him attractive, flirted with him, and _thought_ he was flirting with me back. Well, I decide I might as well just go for it, so I tell him. I tell him he’s gorgeous and I’d like to date him. Turns out the flirting was entirely one-sided, he was straight, he never spoke to me again after that, and he told a few of my work friends I ‘sexually harassed’ him. Work was pretty awkward after that.

 

Gabe still is weird around me, but it’s mostly when we’re around other people. He’s touchy feely when it’s just me and him, hanging out and watching Netflix in his trailer. He’ll drape his arm around my shoulder and run his long ass fingers through my hair. Admittedly it feels great and I find myself leaning into the touch most of the time, but I find myself wondering what he’d do if he knew how much I really liked it. I’m sure he’d hate me all over again. And I’m not sure I could take that.

 

When we’re around other people, he sits a good distance away from me - too big a distance, really, like he has something to prove. He still talks to me, jokes with me, calls me Bilvy, but it’s less... less close than when it’s just me, I guess. And it’s weird to think that Gabe and I are getting close. But we are.

 

No way in hell would I have guessed after that first day from hell that things would go this way. Life’s always surprising me though, I guess. Things never go the way I plan. For better or for worse.

 

Near the middle of filming, our characters finally get together after a long, tumultuous period of “does he like me or doesn’t he”. It all culminates in a fairly cliched make-out session.

 

I know that given the fact that we’re literally cast as love interests, I should’ve seen this coming, but unfortunately I’m an idiot. I read over the script again, running a hand through my absurdly long hair that I should probably cut at some point in the future and feeling the fear of God strike my heart. I’m going to die, probably. The second his lips touch mine I’ll have a heart attack. Or I’ll melt into the floor. Or I’ll catch fire. None of these options are particularly appetizing.

 

A loud knock comes from the other side of the door. I’m half-hoping it’s Gabe, because I’m into the dude and I want to be around him, and half-hoping it’s not, because I’m into the dude and I don’t want to be around him lest he find out. I don’t have to work through this dilemma, though, because it turns out to be Pete. Pete just grins at me. “Bill, I’m guessing you got the script.”

 

“I did,” I confirm, holding up my copy of the script. I have a feeling what this could be about, but I don’t want to make any assumptions yet. I try to keep my expression neutral. Oh god, what does a neutral expression look like?

 

“So you’ve read it,” Pete says.

 

“I also did that,” I tell him. If he doesn’t get to the point I might spontaneously combust, and then he’d have to get someone else to film this fucking scene. That sounds like a good option, actually.

 

“So you know that you and Gabe are hooking up on set tomorrow,” Pete says.

 

“I do know that,” I say. So it is about what I figured it was about. I’m smarter than I give myself credit for, I guess. “I… I mean, at least Gabe doesn’t hate me anymore. So it won’t be so bad, I guess.”

 

“He doesn’t,” Pete says. I wonder if he’s only come here to say obvious things, because if so this is a pointless meeting. I contemplate the ramifications of asking my director to leave. Thankfully, Pete interrupts my thoughts and says, “He actually likes you a good bit. But, well, as you probably know, Gabe insists he’s straight.” My heart kind of jumps. I want to interrupt, to ask Pete what the fuck he means by ‘insists he’s straight’, as if he might actually not be, as if one of his friends actually thinks maybe he’s not straight, but Pete talks too fast and forcefully for me to get a word in edgewise. “So, don’t you dare fucking tell him I told you this, but he’s super freaked about this scene. He’s been practically hyperventilating in his trailer for hours. I think you should probably go talk to him. Maybe you guys can practice.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, but he’s just being Pete, obnoxious and so very, very wrong.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” I agree, because casual as Pete may be, he still is the director, and his suggestions, no matter how nonchalant, are law. I bid Pete farewell and head off on my grand journey in search of Gabriel Saporta.

 

Once I get there, I realize immediately that Gabe’s trailer is suspiciously quiet. Usually when I walk by it, I can hear the songs of Gabe’s people - loud, angsty rock tunes, with Gabe’s clear, solid voice shouting out through the madness. Now there’s just silence, and somehow, it’s even more terrifying. I knock lightly on the door. “Gabe?”

 

There’s no response. I take the silence as an invitation and push my way inside.

 

Glancing quickly around, I notice that the trailer is even more of a mess than usual. In the corner, though, amidst the mess, sits Gabe Saporta, his head buried in his hands. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even look up, so I make my way over to him and sit down beside him. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I know is I can’t just do nothing. Mostly because Pete told me I had to do something.

 

“Hi, Gabe,” I say, suddenly wishing I had a nickname for him to make this whole thing more personal, less awkward. “What’s up?” _Wow, I suck at this more than I remember._ I wish I could slap myself. Well, I guess I could, really, but it’d be pretty ineffective. Whatever.

 

He lifts his head up a bit to glance at me and groans. I’m hoping it’s nothing personal. After a few agonizing seconds of silence, he says, “Bilvy, don’t worry about it.”

 

“Too late, I’m already worried,” I say, scooting a little closer to him.

 

“Pete sent you, didn’t he?”

 

He knows Pete - and me - too well. Better to avoid the question. “I wanted to come,” I say. I want to rest my hand on his shoulder, or some sort of comforting gesture at least, but he’s so weird about these things that I have no idea how he’ll react if I try to touch him first. I won’t risk it. Better for him not to figure it out.

 

Gabe sighs. “Pretty much the same thing as last time. We have to kiss. I’ve never kissed a dude before. You have. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Unequal distribution. Or something like that. And of course… I don’t know how people will react. You’ve done shit like this before. It’s nothing new for you.”

 

It’s this crisis again, then. I decide maybe honesty will get me somewhere. Sometimes it has in the past. Other people just say I’m fucking weird and are done with it. I say, “You know, it’s not always been easy for me.”

 

“What?” Gabe says, his forehead creasing. “Well, yeah, homophobic losers and conservative-ass people don’t particularly like you, but they don’t matter.”

 

“They kind of do matter when one of them is my mom,” I say, as casually as I possibly can considering my heart is hammering in my chest. I hate telling people about myself, mostly because I’m scared of how they’ll react. And almost no one in Hollywood knows about my wreck of a mother. Gabe’s eyes are wide, but he nods, encouraging me to go on. For whatever reason, I do. “She told me she’d never accept the ‘part of me’ that was gay, that if I had a boyfriend I couldn’t ever bring him home. So I left. I haven’t talked to her in years. I’m sure she’s burned all my gay ass movies. Probably hasn’t watched a second of any of them. But, I don’t know, I hope. Maybe she’s changed. And my dad, well, he left when I was a kid, and I haven’t talked to him in years either. Maybe he knew I was gay too. So I’m like an adult orphan or some shit. No real family.” I laugh awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. I’m a shitty storyteller.

 

Gabe’s quiet for a second, then he slips his arm around the back of my neck. “We can do this. Me and you, Bilvy,” he says, leaning in towards me. I swallow loudly. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. Before I can even start to process this, he’s leaning even closer and saying, “For practice”, and then he’s pressing his lips against mine.

 

.

 

Kissing Gabe is like slowly burning alive. At first there’s only the heat that I’m thinking about, and it feels good ways I never thought it could, but then I realize I’m going to get burnt to a crisp. This is one-sided. This is so, so very one-sided. But it feels like nothing else I've ever experienced and I'm so very weak. Stage kissing hasn’t ever really been like this. Not even with Tom, who I refuse to think about because he’s a life-ruiner and a fucking asshole. Right now, kissing Gabe, I’ve got to make a conscious effort not to get turned on.

 

After our little practice run in Gabe’s trailer, we emerge victorious to the set and film the making out scene. It’s heated, it’s sexy, everyone on set is making hooting and hollering noises, and I feel like I may very well be nearing death. I love it and hate it so much at the same time. Pete’s grinning his stupid Cheshire Cat grin. I wish I could slap him, but he is still the director and he could make my life totally miserable, so I won’t.

 

Gabe’s still really embarrassed, though, I think. He takes off immediately afterwards. I don’t chase him, not this time. No good can come from me following him around.

 

Pete walks over to me, puts a hand on my shoulder. “That was fucking hot, man. Ever considered a career in adult films?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

 

Well, at least we've got Pete’s approval. I roll my eyes. “Gonna go with a no on that one, but thanks.”

 

“Gabe seems freaked, though,” Pete notes. “It’s his first time with a man-on-man experience, I guess. I, however…” He smirks.

 

I’d always thought there was kind of a weird vibe between Patrick and Pete, but I didn’t actually think Pete was gay. I guess you can never really tell, though. I raise my eyebrows at him. “Good to know.”

 

He grins. “Better start preparing yourself for tomorrow. I’m available if you want to practice.” He winks at me in a salacious manner. I wish I wasn't a skinny little weak boy so I could punch him in the face.

 

I wonder if this constitutes sexual harassment. It’s close, at least, but I’m not uncomfortable enough to consider turning him in. Instead, I just say, “Fuck off, Pete,” like I’ve seen Patrick do hundreds of times in the past few days. This world isn’t as scary as I thought it was, I guess.

 

.

 

Gabe starts avoiding me, and I realize that this may have gone too far.

 

We film our scenes like normal. We kiss when the script calls for it, call each other sweet nothings on camera, hold hands and let the camera zoom in to our entwined fingers, but the second the cameras turn off Gabe vanishes. I wish Gabe was a little better at communicating, because I don’t mind giving him some space. I just wish I knew what all this was about. And of course the whole time my fucking heart is aching like I’m in a cliche chick flick or something, because god, I miss him. I like hanging out with him. I like Gabe - every part of him, all the asshole shit he does, his dumb jokes, the way he freaks out about everything gay-related. And the more he avoids me the more I ponder if something more might be going on. Maybe he actually is gay. I can’t think that, though. If I think that Gabe might be gay, I might start getting false hopes. And well, I can’t have that. Don’t want to get my damn heart stomped on again.

 

Two whole weeks go by like this - Gabe and I communicating only during scenes. Everyone on set seems confused; they’d witnessed the whole hate to friends arc. This whole avoidance shit doesn’t really seem to fit in. Maybe they think I did something, I don’t know. I’d think the same if I were them. It’s near the end of filming, though, and I hate to think that after this I won’t be seeing Gabe as often, and then after promo and the movie dies down maybe not at all. I hate that we’re in this weird place. I hate everything about it.

 

The last week of filming, Pete offers to take us, me and Gabe, out to dinner, along with Patrick, because the two are practically inseparable. I should’ve known by the smirk on his face that he’d take us to some bar that technically functions as a restaurant, if you squint. He drags Patrick off to the dance floor. I groan and lean down in the booth. Gabe glances over at me, an uninterested glance, but I can see something more in his eyes. I can’t take any more of this shit. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

 

Gabe looks like he’s going to say something. He closes his mouth, though, keeps it there in a tight line. Anger flows through my veins, red hot heat. The room flashes between red and black. I want to punch him right in his goddamn smug face. I don’t know what the hell is happening to me. “Fucking say something,” I snarl out. “I thought we were friends. I really liked hanging out with you. And then you have some freak out and suddenly you’re avoiding me? What the hell is going on? Say something, Gabriel. _Something_. Am I not good enough for you? Not famous enough for you? My acting’s not good enough for you? Is that it?”

 

For a few seconds, Gabe sits there, his glare fixated on me. “I can’t believe you still think so lowly of me,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “Wanna know what’s going on with me, huh? Is that what you want?”

 

“Yes, that's exactly what I want,” I say in an equally low tone. Before I know what’s happening, he’s got a tight grip on my hand and he’s dragging me to the men’s room. It’s gross and smells like piss and shit but I can’t think about any of that when he presses me against the wall and pulls his lips down to meet mine in a rough kiss.

 

After too short a time, he pulls away, the taste of him still on my tongue, and all I can say is “holy shit” before he leans in again.

 

Looks like we’re both fucked.

 

.

 

Once we emerge from the bathroom, our hair disheveled and our lips swollen, we make a quick excuse to Pete and Patrick. Pete’s got that stupid smirk on again still, like he knows exactly what the hell we’re up to, and I hate it. I just hope he won’t tell anyone. Pete’s not the best at keeping secrets. For all I know, I could wake up tomorrow to see a headline blaring that Gabe and I have a _thing._ They won’t know what kind of thing, I’m sure. I don’t even know what kind of thing. But they'll know there's something going on, and even that is far too much.

 

I wake up in his bed the next morning. The sun weaves through the cracks in his blinds, spilling light across his icy white sheets, melting my resolve. His apartment is gorgeous: pristine white furniture, a ton of expensive knick-knacks, lots of acting awards, but his room at least feels a little more homey - a lot of music memorabilia, a shelf full of CDs and records. He wakes up a little after me and notices me staring entranced at his CD collection. “You have everything,” I say before he can comment. “God, I thought I was crazy envious of your acting talent, but really I’m more jealous of your music collection.”

 

He laughs, untangling himself from the covers and coming to sit beside me. “Music fan?”

 

“If I wasn’t so hooked on acting, I like to think I’d be a musician,” I tell him. “Music is… well, it’s everything.”

 

“I get that. It’s the same for me, really. It got me out of so many fucking dark places, and I don’t know what I’d do without it. It's nice to have someone who understands,” Gabe says quietly. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, kissing me on the temple, and then tilting his head so he can lean in and press his lips to mine. For a few seconds, I melt into it - _Gabe Saporta is kissing me!!_ \- and then I pull back, because I am a masochist now, I guess.

 

“I’m sorry,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I… I… I don’t know. I can’t.”

 

“Can’t what?” Gabe says, looking disturbed. “Cause, well, I didn’t think you were shitfaced or anything last night, but to refresh your memory, you definitely _can._ ”

 

“Last night was a mistake,” I say, getting to my feet to search around the room for my clothes. “I… look, Gabe. I’ll be the first to say I definitely went through a phase where I had a faction of one night stands. But then Tom happened and I just, something in me changed. I’m not looking for one night stands. And I just… that’s kind of what you’re known for, I guess.”

 

I don’t look at Gabe, but I can feel his eyes boring into my shirtless back. He says, “This wasn’t a one night stand.”

 

“No?” I ask, feeling a little annoyed despite the fact that I have no reason to be - I was just as enthusiastic about it as he was. “Could’ve fooled me with all the ‘I’m not gay’ shit and the ‘going back to your place, doing it, and then not talking about it’ shit.”

 

Sighing, Gabe stands up, walks over to me. I can hear his footsteps on the hardwood of his bedroom floor. I don’t want to turn around, because I am afraid of what I’ll see on his face: the cold, hard rejection I remember from when Tom decided to leave me for whatever the fuck his name is. “Bilvy,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I’m not gay.”

 

I laugh, but there’s no real humor behind it. “Right, yeah. You’re not gay. You just enjoy sex with other men. A great recreational pasttime. Especially when other people put real feelings into it.”

 

Gabe makes a frustrated noise. I finally turn in his arms to look at him, but I don’t see the rejection I was expecting. There’s something else in his eyes — confusion, fear, terror. I’m reminded of my first crush on a boy back in 8th grade, when I realized that, holy shit, I was gay, and holy shit, my mom could never accept me. I mumble out an apology and he says, “I’m not gay. Or I didn’t think I was. And then I met you, and I didn’t want to like you, but god, William, Bilvy. Everything I thought I knew fucking changed. I’m not gay, I just… I just like you. A lot. Is that… is that okay?”

 

 _Is that okay_ , I repeat in my head in shock. As if it could ever be not okay. As if I haven’t been wishing to hear those words ever since we started filming, practically. As if I could ever want anything more than I want him right now. I lean in and kiss him, feeling him pull me closer, and I think I might just die right now. I hope that my kiss is answer enough.

 

When Gabe pulls away, I see the look of fear still present in his eyes and say, “We don’t have to tell anyone yet. It’ll be our secret. And maybe Pete’s and Patrick’s, because they’re not blind.”

 

Gabe laughs and kisses me again. “Perfect.”

 

 _Perfect_ , I repeat in my head. I can’t wait to tell Travie. And Sisky, because they're my best friends and they don't really count as people, anyways. They’ll never believe _this_.

 

.

 

“You turned a straight boy gay,” Travie says, chuckling. He’s parked on my sofa beside me, Sisky on my other side, and he’s giving me the smug look I hate. “Last time we talked, you were so pissed about him ignoring you, and now you’re fucking.”

 

“Dating,” I correct. At least I think so. He called me his boyfriend the other day, and my heart pretty much exploded. Yes, I’m a thirteen year old girl, sue me.

 

“Can you get him to pay off my student loans?” Sisky asks, elbowing me in the side.

 

“He’s not my sugar daddy,” I say defensively.

 

“I’d take that boy as my sugar daddy any day,” Travie says, and Sisky nods enthusiastically. “Ya did good, lil Beckett.”

 

“Shut up,” I say, blushing, but I’m glad they approve. Even if it is just them approving of the Gabe they see in interviews and in media, not the Gabe I know.

 

“When do we get to meet him?” Sisky asks enthusiastically, his eyes big. I know he loves Gabe’s movies like, a lot, and I’m kind of scared that Sisky meeting Gabe will end with a restraining order. Oh well.

 

“Uh, I’ll talk to him about it,” I say with a bit of a forced smile - hopefully they won’t be able to tell. “But, well, you guys aren’t supposed to know. We agreed to keep it secret. Nothing against you, of course, it’s just we don’t want the media to find out. So you can’t tell anyone. And I can’t tell Gabe I told you guys. All right?”

 

“Sounds kinda shitty,” Travie remarks. “But all right, I guess. I’m just sayin', most people I know that do the secret relationship shit don’t make it too long.”

 

“Gabe’s worth it,” I say confidently. Sisky gags.

 

Travie rolls his eyes. “So you got me any numbers yet?”

 

.

 

The last few scenes that we film are the best yet, if you ask me, which no one really does. Gabe and I have that natural, unsuppressed chemistry, and though we don’t confirm anyone’s speculations that we’re actually together, I wouldn’t be surprised if they all knew. After filming and during breaks we usually sneak off together to do a variety of things I’d rather not describe in detail but I think about quite a bit.

 

Travie was right about one thing, though. It’s rough secretly dating. There are so many times I want to reach out and grab Gabe’s hand, but I can’t because straight men don’t really hold hands so it’d be a dead giveaway. Not for the first time, I wish I was straight. Straight people have it so fucking easy.

 

At the wrap party, I end up in a booth with Gabe, Ryan, Patrick, Pete, and Spencer. I feel kind of honored to be at the booth with all these important people, but I mean, I guess I am one of the two stars of the film, so it makes sense. It’s weird realizing this. It’s always jolting when our teaser trailer’s on the YouTube trending page or I see a promotional billboard with my face on it. I’m not used to getting this crazy level of promo, and I know that after filming’s done the promo will get even more intense. People besides gay boys that watch fringe B-movies might start recognizing me.

 

In the middle of a conversation about the best restaurants in town, a look of shock suddenly dawns upon Ryan’s face. He pretty much lights up and bolts out of his seat, practically pushing his best friend out of the way to get out of the booth. I look over at Gabe in confusion, and Gabe grins and says, “Brendon.”

 

Brendon. Right. Brendon Urie, the boy who was originally supposed to play my part, the boy who Gabe _wanted_ to play my part. It’s hard to not let jealousy overwhelm me. Gabe feels me stiffen up beside him, I guess, because he pats my hand and says, “Don’t even worry about it. Urie’s the opposite of my type. Besides, he and Ross definitely have some shit between them."

 

I can see what he means as Brendon Urie joins the table. Brendon is loud and boisterous, and he keeps his arm strewn across Ryan’s back during the entire conversation. Ryan looks a little embarrassed, but mostly happier than I’ve ever seen him, especially when Brendon leans in and kisses him on the cheek mid-sentence. Pete, who had been sipping at his drink, chokes and spits beer all over the table. Somehow it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing I’ve ever seen.

 

“This guy,” Brendon says with a laugh. “Back when I first started in the industry, Pete gave me a part in one of his movies. He took me out afterwards to celebrate. Both of us get shitfaced, of course. Then some fucker recognized him and dared him to kiss me, but not like a friendly kiss, like some hardcore motherfucking kissing. So Pete, because he can’t turn down a dare, does it, and the fucker videos it and posts it online, back in the early days of the net. So that’s how I got outed before I even knew I was gay. And with Pete Wentz, of all people.”

 

Pete looks offended, which makes everyone laugh. In a way, I feel kind of sorry for Brendon, because getting outed when you don’t want to is the worst thing ever, but he doesn’t look all that upset about it. “Want me to tell the story about the high heels?” Pete shoots back suggestively.

 

“Wearing high heels and fishnets at a fairly conservative office party is just a normal rite of passage,” Brendon shoots back, rolling his eyes.

 

“Definitely have not done that one,” Patrick mumbles.

 

“Gabe has,” Brendon says defensively.

 

“All right, that’s true, but you fucking talked me into it, Urie,” Gabe says. I glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. I’m not surprised. I definitely think Gabe must have been a lot wilder back in his early days, but he doesn’t do any of this shit anymore. Besides public sex, I guess. He just grins over at me, subtly putting his hand on my thigh. When I look up, Brendon’s giving us a knowing grin.

 

All right, so we’re not so subtle.

 

“So William, right?” Brendon says. I nod, anxiety washing over me as I dread what’s to come. “This your first movie?”

 

“Not exactly,” I say. I hate this conversation more and more every time I’m forced to have it. “I’ve mostly done, uh, B-list movies. You know, the ones most gay actors are pinholed into.” Subtly outing myself, well done. Ah well. It’s not like a single person at this table is a hundred percent straight.

 

“Too fucking right,” Brendon says with a laugh. “God, I’m so lucky Pete found me before I could get forced into that shit too. But hey, you made it. The movie’s gonna be great, I’m sure. I hear you and Gabe have real chemistry.”

 

“Thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks flaming.

 

“DIdn’t even know Gabe swung that way,” Brendon continues, as if I didn’t say anything. “He certainly never did for me.”

 

“Don’t think Gabe even knew,” Spencer says, chuckling.

 

I glance over at my boyfriend. His jaw’s clenched, and he doesn’t look particularly happy with the situation. Part of me wants to punch Brendon Urie, but most of me knows that I have next to no muscles and I would probably break my hand on Brendon’s impeccable jawline. I know he’s just teasing, but I also know how sensitive Gabe is about this. Gabe says through clenched teeth, “I didn’t. Please don’t tell anyone, all right?” He seems to be talking to everyone, but his eyes stay on Brendon.

 

Brendon just grins, his fingers playing with the tips of Ryan’s hair. “Look, I get it. Me and Ry are the same way. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“You said the same thing about my thing with Maya,” Gabe grumbles. I do remember seeing a ton of details about Gabe and Maya’s relationship in the press, but I’d never really wondered how those details had gotten out. I guess this explains it.

 

Brendon just shrugs. “This time it’s serious.”

 

I wonder if he means that the relationship between me and Gabe is serious, or that the ramifications of telling people about me and Gabe are serious, but I don’t ask. Instead, I just lean a little closer into Gabe, subtle enough that people outside of the table won’t be able to tell that there’s anything happening between us, but still obvious enough to claim him as mine. This is a serious thing between us. At least, I hope so.

 

.

 

I have to tell Mike.

 

It’s one of the established rules of our working relationship: 100% honesty. He won’t judge me about anything, he's promised me that, but in exchange, I have to tell him literally everything that could be relevant to my career. And this - dating a wildly famous movie star - this is definitely relevant to my career. I can’t justify not telling him. So I do.

 

He spits out his drink. “What the hell,” he says, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at where he spat the drink on the table, giving me an incredulous look. “When did this happen?”

 

I explain the entire story, starting with him absolutely despising me - another detail I’d conveniently forgotten to mention to Mike, whoops - and ending with Brendon saying how this one was serious or whatever. Mike just stares at me.

 

“I just wanted to let you know,” I say, scowling. “Would you rather me not tell you?”

 

“No, I’m glad you did,” Mike says. “But, what the fuck, Bill, can you not go one movie without seducing your co-star?”

 

 _That_ is a low blow, and Mike seems to know it, because he shrinks down in his chair and sighs. I really, really don’t want to be reminded of that. I want to forget. Fuck. I have forgotten. Don’t even think about it anymore. Really.

 

“Sorry,” Mike mumbles. “I shouldn’t have said that shit. You’re an adult, and you're clearly very into Gabe, so nothing I say could convince you that this is a bad idea, I’m sure. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

 

“I know what I’m doing,” I say. I’m not too sure I do, but I hope he buys it anyways.

 

“Right,” Mike says, still not looking too happy. “Well, we should start planning. For the sake of both of your careers, I’m assuming you’re not going to tell anyone - well, besides me, hopefully his manager, and Travie and Sisky, I’m sure.”

 

This is the shitty part about having my manager be one of my best friends; he knows me too damn well. I nod. “We don’t want the movie to be overshadowed by our relationship.”

 

“Right. Instead of getting credit for your performance, you’d become ‘the dude who dated Gabe Saporta’, and you deserve better,” Mike says, his chin balanced in his hand, deep in thought. “You’ve gotta start thinking about what you’re going to do if it does leak out somehow, though. Not that I think it will, but it’s always a possibility. You’re never as careful as you think you are. And Gabe should do the same.”

 

What will we do if leaks? It’s not going to is all I can think, because positive thinking is a powerful tool. I raise an eyebrow. “Okay.”

 

“Bill,” Mike groans. He doesn’t look too pleased with my plan, or rather lack thereof. 

 

“You just said think about it!” I protest, crossing my arms. “And I will. And you can too. But it’s not gonna happen, Mike, okay? The only people that know, I trust completely. I know what I’m doing.”

 

“I hate that I have to keep bringing this up,” Mike says, “but you said you knew what you were doing with… with, uh, Tom, too.”

 

“I was young and stupid,” I snap in response. I really wish he’d stop bringing that up, because he’s making it very hard to forget about it. “This situation is completely different, all right?”

 

“You deserved better than what you got once that relationship ended is all I’m saying,” Mike says coolly. It sounds like there’s more he wants to say, though.

 

“What?” I ask.

 

“If you keep trying to forget about it completely, you’ll forget everything you learned from that experience,” Mike says. He sighs. “I’m gonna draft up a plan for in case it leaks. Until then, Bill, just be careful.”

 

.

 

We have to do an interview for the movie two days later. Gabe stays over at my apartment the night before. It’s definitely weird to have him at my place, which is significantly smaller than his, but it’s also kind of nice. He doesn’t seem judgmental at all. In fact, he compliments my (comparatively meager) CD collection and my lackluster decor. Also, waking up beside him, feeling his arms around me, is a sensation like no other. I grin over at him, poke him a few times in the side to get him up. He’s very ticklish, I discover, when he wakes up gasping and giggling. “What the fuck,” he says eloquently in a mumbled and sleepy tone.

 

“We have an interview, genius,” I say, throwing his shirt at him. “Get dressed.”

 

“Don’t wanna,” Gabe says sleepily. My god, he’s not a morning person. I’d had an inkling of this before, but I didn’t know how bad it was.

 

“Coffee?” I ask. His eyes literally light up. I sigh and head to the kitchen to brew some coffee for the two of us. I wonder how the hell he functioned when we were filming. Does he have a butler at his apartment to brew coffee for him every morning? Or an automatic coffee machine? I ponder this as I pour his coffee. I don’t know how he likes his coffee, though, I realize. 

 

I ask him this as he enters the kitchen. He tells me he likes it black, like his soul, and proceeds to grin like the fucking cheshire cat, so I try to force him to drink it black. After a single sip, he gives up and adds milk and sugar in heaps to his coffee, and I laugh. “I was trying to be hardcore,” Gabe says, pouting. “Impress you.”

 

“You impressed me the first time I saw you on screen,” I tell him. “I’ve been smitten for years now. No need to do some dumbass stunt to impress me.”

 

He grins again, sipping at his coffee and then leaning over to kiss me. He tastes like sugar from his overly sweet coffee, but I don’t mind. How could I? It’s _Gabe._ And I kind of like him. A lot.

 

After a few minutes, though, I force him off of me because we really do need to get dressed if we’re going to make it to this interview. Reluctantly, he goes to change in my room, and I go to try to get my long as fuck hair to look spiffy. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.

 

We have to leave for the interview separately. If someone happens to see us leaving from the same apartment building together, they’d be quick to put two and two together, and that’d be the end of secrecy for the both of us. I kiss him goodbye before he leaves, wishing things could be easy for us. He doesn’t seem so freaked anymore, but I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in his head. It’s never easy to realize you’re not completely straight, if straight at all. I want to be there for him. I’m just not sure how to bring it up.

 

The interview takes place at an entertainment company’s headquarters. It’s a little intimidating - I’ve never really been interviewed before, much less for such a big company - but when I meet Gabe again inside, he seems pretty confident. “They don’t usually go super in-depth,” he explains as the two of us head up the elevator. “Don’t worry too much, Bilvy.”

 

“Not possible,” I say, my head swimming with concerns. What if I fuck up and say something that’ll embarrass me forever? Worse yet, what if I say something about my relationship with Gabe? What if I expose us to the public and he hates me forever and we break up?

 

Patting my shoulder, Gabe sighs and says, “I’ll be doing most of the talking, all right? Don’t even worry about it.”

 

The interviewer is young, a couple of years younger than me even. When Gabe enters the room, she practically leaps out of her seat to greet Gabe. She gives me a passing greeting, but it’s pretty obvious that she prefers Gabe. I don’t mind, really. I think I’d be uncomfortable with all of the attention. She’s filming the interview too, so I guess this one will be a video interview. Everyone will see me stuttering and shit then. I groan quietly.

 

“Thank you two so much for coming,” she says, adoration dripping from her voice. “I’m really honored to get to do this interview with you. Uh, first question. Gabe, well, it’s the question we’ve all been thinking, and I’m sure you’ve been expecting. This is a completely new… _area_ of movie for you. Can you talk a little bit about that?”

 

Ah, yes, the (supposedly) straight guy doing a gay movie question. I’m a little curious to see how Gabe will handle this. He does his easy grin, scratches behind his ear — acting awkward, I notice, but it doesn’t seem a hundred percent natural. “It’s a little more challenging than some of my other roles, I guess you could say,” he says. “But my friend William here, he’s made it easy. He’s a great actor. And with Pete’s direction, everything went pretty smoothly.”

 

Deflecting all of the attention off himself, I notice. It’s smart. A good strategy. Gabe’s more conniving than most people give him credit for. The interviewer looks over at me, smiling brightly. “Gabe gives you high praise.”

 

“I’d have to return it to him,” I say. Gabe’s made it seem like we’re good friends, so I’ll play off of that. Close but not too close, I tell myself. “He’s… he’s a fantastic actor. I’ve been a fan for a - for a while, so it’s an honor to get to work with him for this film. Like, never in a million, billion years could I have dreamed I’d get this far.”

 

“Right, you’ve only done B-list movies so far,” the interviewer says. It sounds harsh, but her tone is more factual than anything. “How has the experience of filming this movie compared to your previous movies?”

 

“God, it’s so much better,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Uh, no shade or anything to my previous films, but they just didn’t have the same kind of, kind of budget I guess. The directing for this movie, the costumes, the makeup, the _talent_ \- they were all fantastic. And, well, not gonna lie, the- the food was a huge plus too.” I grin, blush a little bit. I notice that Gabe’s looking at me, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He probably thinks I suck at interviews. Well, he wouldn't be wrong about that much, I guess.

 

“That’s great,” she says, sounding a little bored. Fuck, have I screwed this interview up? I try to concentrate on the questions she’s asking Gabe about his acting techniques and upcoming films, but it’s tough. I can’t believe I’m a failure already. And after just one interview!

 

She comes back to me and asks, “If this is a bit too personal, we can edit it out, but I’ve heard you’re actually gay. Is that true?” I nod, and she continues, “How do you think that’s shaped your experiences in Hollywood?”

 

“I think, well, I think it’s very different. A lot of people have tried to pigeonhole me into ‘gay’ roles. And it’s like, you know, if a straight person can play a gay person, then who’s to say the opposite can’t also be true? I’m hoping that maybe this movie will open up more roles for me,” I say, trying to give an authentic a smile as is possible under the circumstances. I’m incredibly anxious still. These questions are always tough to answer.

 

A few more questions, and she wraps up the interview, showering Gabe with effusive praise for his previous performances. Gabe is cordial, giving her polite smiles, but it’s definitely not the same kind of smiles he gives me. I take solace in that.

 

After we leave the interview (separately, again) and meet up at Gabe’s place, Gabe says, “Damn, Beckett.”

 

My head is buried in his side, so all I can do is hum out a, “What?”

 

“Never knew you were so fucking smooth,” he teases, grinning over at me.

 

“I what?” I ask, pulling away to stare at him in confusion. “Dude, I fucked up that interview, like, _thoroughly._ ”

 

“She loved you,” Gabe says, looking back at me with an equally confused expression. “Like, you had all of the charm. All of the innocent new Hollywood charm. People will eat that up, Bilvy, trust me.”

 

“I… wow,” I say. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly charming. Sometimes with a select number of gay guys, I guess, but not generally. I wonder if Gabe even knows what the fuck he’s talking about. And then I bury my head back into his side and harass him to choose a movie before I lose my cool.

 

.

 

And a few weeks and a dozen interviews later, it turns out Gabe’s right. The movie hasn’t even released yet, but there are bloggers, people on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook — all talking about me, making fan accounts for me, spamming my mentions and begging to be noticed. They say I’m adorable. They say me and Gabe are adorable. There are even the conspiracy theory shippers that swear on their graves that Gabe and I are together, a ship they call “Gabilliam”. And, let me reiterate, the movie hasn’t even been _released_ yet. I can’t imagine what will happen once they see the chemistry between Gabe and me on screen.

 

Gabe’s not too happy about it, either.

 

“I didn’t think people would figure it out so soon,” Gabe says, biting down on his lip. He looks very cute, though I don't think he'd appreciate me telling him this right now. “I thought I’d be able to tell people on my own time. Holy fuck.” He buries his head in his arm.

 

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “They don’t have any solid proof, trust me. No one believes them. It happens to every pair of straight guy friends, anyways.”

 

“Yeah, and most of the time they’re actually gay,” Gabe groans. “Pete and Patrick? Ryan and Brendon? They’ve been shipped for _ages_.”

 

“We’re actually gay too, you know,” I remind him.

 

“I’m not gay,” Gabe repeats, almost automatically. I give him a dubious look, but I mean, it’s true that he doesn’t necessarily have to be gay. He could be bisexual, pansexual, whatever, but I’m definitely a man, we’re definitely in a relationship, and he’s definitely attracted to me. Sometimes I don’t think he’s fully processed the fact that I’m a man yet. It worries me.

 

I level him with a stare. He sighs. “Fine. Fine. I’m in a gay relationship, William. Is that what you want to hear?”

 

Gabe almost never calls me William. It’s Bilvy, Beckett, baby, Bill, whatever B-word he can come up with. This must mean he’s very unhappy with me. And I don’t even know what I’ve done. Besides force him to confront the fact that he’s in a relationship with a man. Is that something to be angry with someone over?

 

“Yes, it’s what I want to hear,” I say angrily. “Look, I get why you want to keep this a secret. Hell, I want to keep it a secret. I want the movie to get press based on its own merits, not because of Gabilliam or what the fuck ever. But that doesn’t mean you get to pretend we’re not in a relationship or that this relationship is worth less than your straight relationships.”

 

“What straight relationships?!” Gabe snaps, fire blazing in his eyes. Suddenly it hits me.

 

Well. This is new.

 

Gabe has never been in a relationship. I knew Gabe was a man-whore, but I never thought it was that serious. Quietly, I ask, “But Maya...”

 

“Friends with benefits, never exclusive,” Gabe says flippantly. “Neither of us were really meant for monogamy. Or, well... I didn’t think I was. At the time, at least. But now I’m kind of reconsidering.”

 

My heart swells. All of this is new to Gabe. He’s probably been having some kind of existential crisis, finding out he’s actually an entirely different person than he thought he was. I want to hug him, but I have to speak first. I say, “God. Gabe. Baby. You could’ve told me this shit. Should’ve told me this shit.”

 

“I know,” Gabe says quietly. “It’s just... god, it’s a lot, William. I didn’t think I’d ever settle down. I definitely didn’t think I was gay. And then you turn up and everything I know is turned upside down, and I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think I regret it - I don’t, not at all. I love every second of being with you. But I’m still a little freaked out.”

 

“That’s normal,” I reassure him. “Completely normal. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t freaking out. I had a crisis when I figured out I was gay. And so did everyone else I’ve ever met. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

 

Gabe laughs, but his beautiful smile slowly falls back into a frown. Of course my lackluster reassurance wouldn’t be enough to soothe his worries completely. It makes sense. Still, I wish he weren’t so torn up about this. I hate to see him in any kind of pain. “I still don’t think I’m gay.”

 

“And you don’t have to be,” I assure him quickly. “There are a ton of labels that encompass different levels of attraction to men. You don’t have to use a label at all if you don’t want to. But, well, just so you’re aware... I am a dude.”

 

“I’m aware,” Gabe says, stepping closer to kiss me roughly. Once he pulls back, looking incredibly hungry for me, he whispers, “I’m very aware.”

 

I push him away lightly. “Seriously, Gabe. Whatever you choose to identify as, it’s fine with me. As long as you still want me in all my manliness.”

 

Gabe chuckles, probably because I’m not very manly. I’ve been called a pretty boy more times than I can count. I’ve also been mistaken as a woman a good number of times. Somehow, it doesn’t really bother me. “I’m sure I want you, Guillermo.”

 

“Guillermo?” This is new.

 

“Spanish for William,” he says, grinning crookedly.

 

“Right. Almost forgot you speak Spanish.” I’m a shitty fan slash boyfriend.

 

“I was born in Uruguay,” he says casually. For a second, I wish Gabe wasn’t famous so that I could react to this news with the appropriate awe of learning new information about one’s partner. Instead, this was one of the first facts I learned about Gabe when I first became a fan, and throwing my knowledge of this fact in his face was in one of our first conversations. Old news.

 

“Exotic,” I say, tracing a hand up his chest. I don’t really know what else to say. I hate myself for being so awkward.

 

He kisses me again. “You’re from Illinois, right?”

 

“Small town Illinois,” I confirm. “Not terribly interesting. Sisky and I are from the same town, but we both moved here because we thought it’d improve our chances at making it.”

 

Gabe nods. I’ve mentioned Sisky before, I know. “Sisky, is he an actor too?”

 

“Nah, he’s more of the filmmaker,” I say. “He’s always behind more of the behind the scenes type of guy.”

 

“And you’re the in front of the scenes type of guy, huh?” Gabe says teasingly. I stick my tongue at him, feeling like a five year old, but not caring.

 

“Just you wait,” I say, leaning into him. “Sisky and Travie love to call me a motherfucking drama queen.”

 

“You’re my queen, Guillermo,” Gabe says, batting his eyelashes at me. I’d want to kick him if he weren’t so absurdly attractive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really fluffy, and I'm sorry for that, but hey. Rest assured things kick into high gear a little more next chapter.  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! It'll motivate me to write more and to update quickly. Hope you enjoy!


	3. Part III

The premiere date is only a week away, and honestly I’m a little freaked. Gabe keeps telling me unhelpful shit like “you have to have confidence in your work or else no one else will” and I appreciate that he’s trying to help me out, I do, but his career is already set for life while mine is barely hanging on, with only this movie to give it another chance at life besides being cast in the sequel to _GBF_.

 

It’s hard to yell at him like I want to, though, when he’s beside me on my couch batting his eyelashes at me and saying, “Don’t worry about it, Guillermo. We’re in this together,” and squeezing my hand in his giant-ass hand.

 

“I’m just saying I’ve got a lot more at stake,” I huff. “If this movie flops, you’re still Gabe Saporta. You’ll have a ton more offers. This could be my only shot.”

 

“William,” Gabe says seriously, staring into my eyes with his big dumb dark eyes that make me feel like I’m in a universe where none of this meaningless shit matters at all. “This movie is not going to flop. You know why the fuck not? Because the most charming dude I know is in one of the starring roles. And for once I’m not referring to myself.” He grins. “They’d be crazy not to love you.”

 

 _Almost as crazy as I am about you_ , I want to say. Instead, I kiss him feverishly, and he returns with just as much fervor. We pull back, taking a moment to catch our breath, and I tell him, “You know, I told Sisky and Travie to come over, so…”

 

“Goddamnit,” Gabe curses, his cheeks flushed red. He retracts his arm from where it’s snaked around my body. “Why do we need friends, anyway? We can go into a life of seclusion for all I care. Become hermits. Only have time for each other.”

 

Sometimes I forget that Gabe is also an actor, that he’s Gabe Saporta, one of the most famous actors in the world. Other times, like now, he makes it impossible to forget. “Drama queen,” I huff, poking him in the ribs. “Besides, all of the world thinks we’re just friends anyways, so you’d have to leave me behind.”

 

“I could never do that,” Gabe says. He’s hard to read, though; I can’t tell from his expression how serious he is. We’ve barely known each other for any length of time. There’s no way he could seriously make a claim like that.

 

The door knocks, slamming us both out of our thoughts and our moment, whatever it was. I give Gabe a look that says to _behave_ because hell if I want a repeat of my first impression of him, which was both decidedly inaccurate and a total disaster. He gives me his wide, innocent eyes. I don’t trust him at all.

 

“Bill, my boy!” Travie greets me warmly with a hug as he walks in the door, but as he gets close, he whispers in my ear, “Sisky boy’s scared out of his mind. Pretty sure he has a bigger man crush boner for Gabe than you do.”

 

“Not possible,” I hiss back, but I motion Travie in and then go out to drag Sisky in.

 

Sisky is definitely scared. His eyes are all comically wide, he’s biting his lip, and he looks like he thinks I’m gonna drag him off to a slaughterhouse instead of taking him in to meet his actual idol. I roll my eyes at him. “Sisky Biz, this shit’s ridiculous.”

 

“Bill,” he groans. “I’m gonna make an ass of myself, okay?”

 

“I made an ass of myself several times and now I’m getting that ass,” I say jokingly, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “He’s gonna love you, okay? And if he doesn’t, I’ll kick his ass. Promise.”

 

Sisky doesn’t look reassured, but he lets me drag him in anyways, to where Travie is still awkwardly looming in the doorway like a six foot five omen of… well, good things, so maybe not an omen. He lets me lead the two of them to the den, where Gabe finally gets off his ass to greet us.

 

“You must be Travie and Sisky,” he says, extending a hand. “I’ve heard tons of shit about you guys. The good shit, I swear.”

 

“Well, we’ve heard a lot about you too,” Travie snickers, but he shakes Gabe’s hand anyways, much to my relief.

 

“I’m not always an asshole,” Gabe says quickly. “Just when I’m having a sexuality crisis.”

 

“So what about little old Bill made you turn gay, man?” Travie starts in. “Cause boy’s cute and a little feminine, but if I was gonna go gay for anyone, it’d have to be like a damn supermodel with some washboard abs, lemme tell ya.”

 

Meanwhile, Sisky is totally frozen. He hasn’t stepped towards Gabe at all, but he hasn’t moved away either. In fact, I don’t even think he’s blinked. He’s just staring at Gabe with huge eyes like a child seeing snow in person for the first time. And I know I shouldn’t be, because Sisky wouldn’t really ever fuck up my relationship because he’s a great friend and also probably straight, but I’m a little bit jealous.

 

“Sisky,” I mutter, elbowing him a little harder than I intended.

 

“Ow!” he says, glaring at me. My elbows are incredibly bony; this is something I’ve been told on many an occasion by everyone. I tend to use them as weapons of mass destruction. I look at him apologetically, though he and probably everyone else knows I’m not really sorry. Sisky sighs and says, “I’m Sisky. I’m, uh, I’m Bill’s ex-best friend.”

 

“Hey,” Travis says, scowling. “I thought I was Bill’s best friend.”

 

“Well, now I’m his ex, so the position’s available,” Sisky hisses. This is more words than I thought he’d get out at once around Gabe, so honestly I’m a little proud of him. This all vanishes, though, because he looks straight on at Gabe and says something along the lines of, “Oh my… Gabe… hi.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sisky,” Gabe purrs, and I want to kick him. He’s laying it on a little thick. I just want him to be himself, even if himself is kind of an asshole.

 

Sisky smiles back. “S-sorry, I just… wow, your movies… and you… wow.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe says easily, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. I half-contemplate pushing him away. “Bilvy here was a fuckton worse the first time I met him. Couldn’t even string a sentence together.”

 

And there's the real Gabe. “Didn’t help that you were making a complete ass of yourself,” I say, scowling at him, and he just kisses my nose.

 

“So you really are dating Bill,” Travie muses. “Good to know. I half-thought Bill made it up in some kind of crazy ass fuckin’ fever dream. Or his wishful thinking just got even worse.”

  
Gabe gazes at Travie in wonder and pulls me down to the couch. “His wishful thinking, you say?”

 

Travie grins lazily. I’ve known Travie for years, really, so I couldn’t ever stop being friends with him, but sometimes I want to kill him for knowing too damn much about me. Now is one of those times. Travie also thrives on causing me pain. If I didn’t love him so much I’d hate him. “Yeah, Bill’s had a crush on you for ages, man. I’m, like, fuckin’ 99% sure that his first kiss was with the poster of you he had hanging by his bed. It’s kinda sweet to see that he had the right idea all along.”

 

“Aww,” Gabe coos into my hair. I’m pretty sure I’m the color of a tomato right now, so I don’t even look at him, lest I see the terror I fear in his eyes. But he doesn’t sound scared or angry. Maybe there’s hope.

 

“Too bad I ruined Sisky’s dreams,” I mutter into Gabe’s shoulder.

 

“Sisky’s what?” Sisky asks, glancing frantically around the room. “Sisky doesn't - I mean, I don’t have dreams about Gabe. I’m straight. As straight as they come.”

 

“That’s what they all say, kid,” Gabe says mournfully. I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t really know what exactly he means, but I feel special anyways.

 

Travie chortles. “Bill makes them straight guys go gay. You’re next, Siska.”

 

Sisky just kicks him. I grimace at the idea of dating Sisky. He’s basically my younger brother, so I’d rather lick the bottom of Travie’s feet than ever even attempt to date Sisky. Besides, I’ve already got something pretty good going here. No need to fuck that up.

 

.

 

Travie and Sisky bid their farewells after about an hour. Before they go, though, Gabe stops them at the door. I’m on my way to the bathroom, but I pause in my quest when he stops them. I’m not exactly huge on eavesdropping - it’s a violation of privacy - but I can’t not hear this. It’ll be very telling, I justify it. Let me get to know my boyfriend just a little better.

 

“Bilvy trusts you two, so I trust you as well,” Gabe says seriously. “But you really cannot tell anyone about this. Anyone. I mean your family, your friends, your buddies at the bar - no one, all right?”

 

“We got you, man,” Travie replies. “But when are you two gonna come clean? I don't mean to be rude, but like, you can't stay in the closet forever."

 

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Gabe says, and even though I can’t see him exactly it sounds like he’s shrugging. “We don’t want it to overshadow the movie.”

 

“How long will you give it, then?” Travie answers seriously. “A month? Six months? A year? How long will it be before it doesn’t overshadow the movie anymore? How long can you wait? Better question, how long can _Bill_ wait?”

 

Sometimes Travie’s too smart for his own good.

  
Gabe just sighs. “I know,” he says in a voice so small I can barely hear it. “I gotta talk to him about it, but fuck, man, I just figured out that I’m not fucking straight and I don’t… it’s gonna be so hard to tell the people that I know. So damn hard.”

 

“Look, man, I don’t know you, but you seem like a good guy,” Travie says. “So here’s my advice, all right? Don’t fuck this up. You’re going through your own shit, that’s fine. Work through it. Figure it out. But don’t let it affect your shit with Bill. He deserves to be treated like the best kind of guy because that’s who he fuckin’ is. It’s gonna be hard, I can promise you that, cause this world sucks right now. But you’re taking the right steps. And you’re gonna get there. Whenever you’re ready, start taking little steps. Tell a few people at a time. And for God’s sake, do _not_ hurt Bill, or I’ll kick your ass.”

 

“I second that,” Sisky says at last. “And, uh, _The World Has Its Shine_ is my favorite movie of all time. Just so you know. But if you hurt Bill, I’ll definitely kick your ass.”

 

I try not to giggle. My friends are the best.

 

But also kind of the worst.

 

.

 

We fly through a ton of last-minute interviews and promotional shoots and appearances, and then suddenly it’s the date of the premiere. As I slip into the suit that Sisky has so kindly dropped off for me (maybe I should hire him as my assistant), my phone rings.

 

I answer with a sigh. “Mike.”

 

“Good luck today, man,” Mike says, not bothering with a greeting. “You deserve this, and the film is fantastic. Just don’t fuck up the interviews or anything and you could be on the verge of something big.”

 

“Or tell anyone that Gabe and I are together,” I say with a laugh.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Mike replies.

 

When I arrive at the premiere, though, I really wish I could tell everyone. There are a ton of couples around me, hanging off of each other, pressing kisses to each other’s cheeks, holding hands and just displaying their love for each other. I sound like such a fucking softie, but I wish I could do the same with my asshole of a boyfriend. I’m not the idiot I was a few years ago, though. I won’t ruin my career over this.

 

Speaking of the devil, he comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. Part of me is horrified and wants to pull away, a knee-jerk reaction, and the other part of me wants to kiss him. Neither’s the best course of action, though. My rational side finally rears its head and says that Gabe does this to everyone so if I don’t really react, no one will find it suspicious. I just turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

 

“Aw, so cute!” a reporter coos, and I tense up a little bit. He continues, “Here we have the men of the hour! Good to see that the stars of the film are such good friends.”

 

 _No homo,_ I think wryly as Gabe finally lets go of me, grinning from ear to ear. “Couldn’t have asked for a better co-star than this little one,” he says, ruffling my hair.

 

I guess that’s how we’re playing this. Granted, we’ve done quite a few interviews together, but they just felt like different environments. More professional, less personal. No real talk about the age gap between us or the fact that he has a ton more acting seniority than I do. But I can go with this. “I’m not that much shorter than you, giant,” I gripe, glancing up at him.

 

“You are rather tall,” the reporter points out, smiling. “How are you two feeling about the release of this film?”

 

Gabe glances over at me, which I guess means he wants me to take the question. Despite what the general public seems to think, I don’t think my awkwardness is all that charming, and I’d rather leave the question-answering up to Gabe with me just throwing in agreements and little comments, which is what I’ve been trying to do in the past few interviews. Apparently Gabe’s not all that keen to let me do it this time. I say, “Uh, well, we’ve worked really hard on this movie, so I’d, uh, I’d say that we’re feeling pretty good. Like, we gave it our best effort, which is all we can do, and I think people are really, um, really gonna like it!” I try to smile. I want to kill Gabe.

 

Gabe just grins over at me. “What he said,” he says. If I punch him now, it probably won’t let out our secret, but it probably won’t go over well either. Better to not.

 

Once we’ve answered a few more questions, Gabe looking to me to respond to most of them and me stuttering my way through them, Gabe leads me off down the red carpet. As cameras flash in our face and people yell at us from all sides, I hiss, “You’d better be glad murder’s illegal in all fifty states and there are a shit ton of witnesses here.”

 

Gabe just laughs. “I won’t always be around to save your ass, _querido._ You gotta learn to ace these interviews by yourself. And it’s better for you to do that when I’m around, I guess. Plus…” he grins devilishly, “everyone adores your awkwardness in interviews. They think you’re pure, uncorrupted by the Satanic Hollywood elite, such as myself.”

 

I open my mouth to respond, but someone’s shoving another microphone in my face, asking me if it was hard for me to play a gay character. I sigh. “I’m gay,” I say. “So, well, no.”

 

“That must make it easy then,” the reporter says with a gasp.

 

 _You don’t say._ “Yes,” I say in response. “I could, uh, I could really tap into a lot of the things that my character was feeling, and kind of use my own experience to like… g-give it authenticity, I guess?”

 

“That’s beautiful,” the reporter says, looking like she’s going to swoon, and I wonder if she knows exactly what the word gay means. “We can’t wait to see the movie.”

 

Me neither, I think, glancing over at Gabe. He’s blabbering on about how it was kind of difficult for him to take on this “new challenge.” If I didn’t know him so well and know that this is all bullshit and he’s actually, well, a little gay, I’d probably hate his response. Maybe I also need to give him some pointers, at least while he’s playing the part of the ‘straight ally’.

 

Someone else approaches me from the side. I sigh, thinking it’ll be another reporter, but when I turn my head it’s… definitely not a reporter. My brain immediately short-circuits. _Holy shit_ , I think as I gaze into the man’s eyes. _Holy shit, holy shit, that’s Gerard fucking Way._

 

“Hi!” Gerard says, smiling at me. “You’re William Beckett, right?”

 

He knows my name. He knows my name? How the fuck does he know my name? ….oh, right, I’m one of the stars of the movie that’s premiering at this very event that he’s attending. I’ve been in the news a lot lately. It’s not that crazy that he’d know my name. And still I feel like I’m gonna explode. Fuck, I have to say something. “I’m… yeah, I’m William, uh, William Beckett. And you…. you’re Gerard Way.”

 

“Yeah, that I am,” Gerard says, still smiling, so hopefully I haven’t freaked him out too much. “This movie’s gonna be great for the LGBT youth of today. Having representation in romance… it’s such an important thing. And I know speaking out about your sexuality hasn’t been great for your career, but I just wanted to let you know I think it’s really fucking brave of you.”

 

Gerard Way just said he thinks I’m brave. Gerard Way, the gay icon of the Hollywood scene, thinks _I’m_ brave. I can’t possibly process this information. “I… no. No way. I’m not brave; you’re brave. You’ve been out and an icon for so long now, even when you got popular. I’m just… people don’t really know who I am, so I don’t get a lot of hate.”

 

“Well, I’ve had a lot of support,” Gerard says modestly, and as if on cue, a short man appears beside him and grabs his hand. Again, I feel a flash of jealousy, wishing Gabe and I could be as public as they are. I immediately recognize the man as Gerard’s husband, the short but powerful Frank Iero. Frank’s been in a ton of bands over the years. The dude knows how to scream. In a way, they seem like a disjointed couple, the famed actor and the loud musician, but they seem to make it work really well. It seems that way now, too, because Gerard leans over to kiss his head. “Hey, Frankie.”

 

“Someone just offered to give me the latest iPhone for free,” Frank says, sounding affronted. “I told them that I’d just gotten used to whatever the fuck this model is, the 6 or whatever, and no fuckin’ way was I gonna put myself through that again. Oh, holy shit, you’re the dude from this movie. The dude that’s working with Gabe. Good luck with that asshole. Don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“Don’t tell me you said what?” Gabe says, joining the conversation with a casual nudge to my shoulder. “Hey, Gee, Frank. Long time no see.”

 

He’s so casual about this, and here I am nearing death. I don’t look at him.

 

“We met your co-star,” Frank barrages on. “He’s fucking adorable, so I see what all the magazines and shit are on about, but he doesn’t talk a lot.”

 

“Probably because you won’t let him get a word in edgewise,” Gabe responds, frowning at Frank. He nudges me. “Bill’s not quiet, trust me.”

 

I nearly choke. It sounds like innuendo, and I don’t even get the chance to wonder if Frank and Gerard will figure it out, because Frank is chortling loudly. Gerard raises his eyebrows. “You swing this way too, Saporta? I honestly hadn’t guessed.”

 

“Yeah, well, me neither,” Gabe says. “Apparently I don’t know myself as well as I’d thought. Just… keep it on the down-low, yeah?”

 

“Anything for you, Gabey,” Frank says in a teasing tone, throwing his tiny body around Gabe’s long body. Frank’s head ends up pressed into Gabe’s armpit, but Frank doesn’t seem all that upset about it.

 

“Welcome to the club of gay actors,” Gerard says, grinning at Gabe. “It’s pretty much just me, you, and Bill here. Oh, and Neil Patrick Harris, but he refuses to come to the club meetings.”

 

“Can I return my membership card?” I mumble. “I’m looking for a club with, uh, more benefits and less blatant hatred from outsiders.”

 

Gerard just nods sagely. “Me too, William. Me too.” It’s kind of a shock to hear one of my favorite actors using my name, but I try to just smile and play it off. “Well, sorry to bring you down. Good luck tonight, both of you. I’m sure the movie will be great.”

 

“I was promised a passionate as fuck gay romance, so you better deliver,” Frank adds, grinning wickedly. Gerard shakes his head, but he smiles affectionately at his boyfriend nonetheless. I wonder suddenly if Gabe ever stares at me like that when I’m not looking, like I’m an oasis sparkling in the midst of the desert he’s been wandering in for years. I hope.

 

“Thanks,” Gabe answers for both of us. “We’ll have to get lunch or something. It’ll be like our club meeting. And, like, _actually_. I’m not just fucking saying it to be polite, cause hell knows that’s not me.”

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter, thinking back on our first few meetings. Gabe scowls and kicks me, but he doesn’t look actually angry. Probably because he knows he can be an asshole. Probably because he knows he was an asshole to me for no real reason besides that I was cute and I was going to be playing his gay lover.

 

“Sounds like there’s a story here,” Gerard says. “I’ll take you up on this lunch if you agree to give us all the juicy details.” Frank nods along, and Gerard grabs his hand. “We’ll see you two soon.”

 

Gabe and I wave after them. We don’t get a second of peace, though, before a reporter comes up and shoves a microphone in my face. “You were talking to Gerard Way! Are you a fan? Are you two friends? You two have similar lifestyles, so…”

 

I glance over at Gabe, who’s smiling back at me with the sun dancing in his dark eyes, and suddenly my question is answered. He looks at me like I am the only thing that matters. My heart skips a beat.

 

.

 

The premiere goes even better than I had expected, which is surprising to me, but apparently not to Gabe. People come up to me to rave about my acting and about Gabe’s acting and about the movie’s plot and writing and direction, to which I just smile modestly and direct all compliments to Ryan and Pete. Gabe doesn’t need any more compliments; they go straight to his head anyways.

 

Despite all the positive feedback, though, I get the feeling the movie’s not going to be a huge hit the way the reviewers seem to think it will be. I just don’t think the world’s ready for a movie like this to be hugely successful. All I hope is that we can help to pave the way for the rest of the world to make more movies like these, and that one of those movies is a hit, when the world is more accepting. Oh, and I also hope that I stop getting pigeonholed into shitty ass B-list gay movies.

 

At the afterparty, I hope to find Gabe, but I’m not sure how to approach him without making people think that something’s going on between us. When I arrive, he’s already in the midst of the crowd of people, dancing loudly and singing a Britney Spears song at the top of his lungs. It’s kind of endearing, and I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my lips. Then I realize it’s a bit weird for me to be staring at my co-star from across the room, and I head to the bar to grab a drink.

 

Pete practically accosts me, slinging his arm around my waist as I order my drink. “You did so well!” he slurs, clearly already shit-faced after less than an hour at the afterparty. “ _We_ did so well. Good ass reviews, my friend. Lots of moolah.”

 

“Yeah,” I say, grateful Pete’s incredibly short so I can glance over him and see Gabe, dancing with some guy that I don’t even know but that is incredibly attractive. Fuck. Sometimes I forget how much more well-connected Gabe is in Hollywood than me.

 

Thankfully, Pete’s far too gone to notice my distraction. “I can’t believe it’s all over,” he laments, leaning onto the bar. “I mean, I’m happy, but I’m fuckin’ sad too. I really like you, you know? You and Gabe and Patty and the whole damn cast and crew, really, it was so much fun. We’ll have to have a reunion sometime. Maybe my next movie.”

 

I can’t help but smile a little bit at that, my attention momentarily redirected from my boyfriend and whatever the hell he’s doing. Being cast in two Pete Wentz movies is a guarantee at stardom, at fame beyond my wildest dreams, and I’m grateful for it. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Or at least I think it’s what I want. “That’d be great,” I say sincerely, and once again my attention slips to where some girl is now trying to grind on Gabe. Gabe seems to be trying to push her away, but even still, my anger flares up. I bite down on my lip, hoping it’ll get some of the anger out.

 

“You don’t look so good,” Pete says, and despite his inebriation he still can follow my gaze to where Gabe’s still trying to get the girl off of him. He looks at Gabe, then back at me, then back at Gabe, and says, “ _Oh._ ”

 

Fuck. “It’s not… we just….”

 

“I almost forgot about you and Gabe,” Pete says gleefully. "You're still a thing, huh."

 

I kind of knew he’d figured it out, but I’m hoping that he’s not too drunk to keep it to himself. I just sigh. “It sucks, trying to be on the down low, you know? I can’t stand seeing him with other people.”

 

“I get it,” Pete says, nudging me gently with his elbow, though he’s so short it just barely hits my hip. “But it’ll get better, ya know? One day we’ll live in a fuckin’ fantastic society where everyone can be who they wanna be and get parts regardless of who they fuck and you and Gabe can just be you and Gabe. Just believe, man.”

 

“Thanks, Pete,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. I know he’s only trying to be helpful in his odd Pete ways. A part of me hopes that what he’s saying will come true.

 

I wander around after my little conversation with Pete, greeting the rest of the cast and crew. Even though there are hundreds of people around me, declaring their adoration for me and the movie, I feel as though I am the only one in the room. My head pounds, and I feel a little overwhelmed, like I am drowning in all the conversation and flirting and dancing around me. I slip outside. It’s not like anyone will notice anyways.

 

After a few minutes of moping around on the bench outside, though, Gabe appears at my side. “I missed you,” he says, slipping down beside me. “This sucks.”

 

I glance around, make sure no one’s watching us, and say, “We don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other, y’know. We were in the same movie. People know we’re friends.”

 

“I know, I know, I just don’t want to risk anything. I can’t fuck this up,” Gabe groans. He looks around again, and then leans down and kisses me quickly on the lips.

 

The corner of my mouth turns up of its own volition. “For someone who doesn’t want to risk anything, that was a pretty risky move.”

 

“We’re alone,” he says, but he doesn’t sound all that confident. “Plus, _querido,_ I can’t resist you, you know that.” He stands back up, smiles down at me. “I’m gonna go say my goodbyes, and then we’ll head out, okay? I don’t think I can take much more of this. Also, I don’t know what to say when people try to dance with me. I can’t exactly tell them I’ve got the most wonderful boyfriend in the world waiting for me - though I’d love to.”

 

My cheeks go a little red, but I nod anyways. I probably should do the same. It’ll reflect badly on me if I leave my premiere’s afterparty without even a quick goodbye. I pick myself up off the ground and inhale deeply. I can do this.

 

.

 

When I wake up the next morning, Gabe is gone.

 

I may have only known Gabe for a few months, but I know him well enough to know he doesn’t fucking do that. Whenever we spend the night together, he’s still asleep when I wake up, his long ass limbs taking up the entire bed and sometimes snaking their way around me so that I couldn’t possibly worm my way out of them if I wanted to. But he’s not here, and without him, I feel incredibly cold.

 

“Gabe?” I yell into the emptiness of my apartment. There’s no response. Something odd is going on here, and I know it. Gabe wouldn’t just leave with no warning. He’s not that type of guy.

 

I grab my phone from my bedside table and my heart leaps into my throat. 20 missed calls: from Pete, from Ryan, from Sisky and Travie and my mother, for whatever goddamn reason. I haven’t talked to her in years. I'm not gonna call her back, though. No way in hell. Texts: _Bill what the hell is going on, Bill you’re fucking Gabe??, I guess the cats out of the bag_. Notifications from news sites: _Paparazzi caught Gabe Saporta and William Beckett of_ _After the Last Midtown Show kissing and arriving at William’s apartment later that same night._

 

Oh god.

 

My head is buzzing. I can’t think, I can’t fucking think, I don’t know what to do. We’d been so careful - checking to make sure no one was following us, each taking a different route to my house, Gabe wearing fucking sunglasses and a hat so that people wouldn’t recognize him. But it hadn’t been enough somehow. I scroll through my phone frantically until I get to Gabe’s number. I punch the call button.

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

After the voicemail message plays, I hiss into the phone, _“_ Gabriel Saporta, I know you’re freaking out right now, but you’d better fucking call me back. We need to talk about this. Make a plan.” My voice breaks a little. “I _need_ you.” I call again, but it says his voicemail box is full.

 

I sprawl out on my bed, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I try to clear my mind as I think about what to do next.

 

_I wish Gabe hadn't left._

 

Not helping, I snap back at my brain. Okay. I need to… well, first, I need to stop hyperventilating, because I’m starting to feel really lightheaded. I try to control my breathing - in, out, in, out. Okay, I can do this. Now I need to… talk to people. My first choice would be Gabe, but he’s clearly unavailable at the moment. My agent, probably. She’s old and wise. She’ll know what to do.

 

Jenny picks up on the first ring, practically. “William Beckett!” she squawks, not sounding particularly happy with me. “I’ve been trying to reach you all damn day.”

 

“It’s only eleven AM,” I point out, but immediately I want to take it back. It’s not exactly the kind of thing I should be saying right now. I’m already in deep enough shit as it is.

 

Thankfully, she ignores me. “I don’t know what kind of thing you have with Gabe, but this is _not good_ ,” she hisses. “Not good for the movie, not good for Gabriel’s career, and in the short term it could be good for your career, but now you’re just gonna be Gabe’s boytoy, so not great for you either. I can’t believe you would be so reckless.”

 

“We thought we were being careful,” I say into the phone, feeling once again like I’m a high schooler being scolded by my mother.

 

“Clearly not careful enough,” she replies. “Now, tell me the whole story, and we’ll work on a media angle.”

 

It all spills out of me at once. How at first Gabe hadn’t liked me, how we’d slowly become friends, how we’d had to kiss for the scene and it’d been fantastic, how we’d started dating and decided to keep it a secret, how much I genuinely cared - _care_ about him, and now how he’d disappeared and I had no idea what to think. Once I finish, Jenny exhales. “Well,” she says slowly. “At least you ruined everything for something that actually means something, I guess.”

 

I give a frustrated noise. “What do I do?”

 

She pauses. “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. I’m going to contact the media and feed them a bullshit story about you both being super drunk and it being a one time thing. They may or may not buy it; we’ll see. You are going to feed the same story to everyone you know that you don’t trust a hundred percent. Then you’re going to get into contact with Gabriel and sort all your shit out. You’re going to sort out if this is a long-term thing, when you’re planning on coming clean, and you’re getting your story straight so you can both release a statement. And for God’s sake, call Mike. I’m not your damn manager, Bill.”

 

She’s got a point. I’d almost completely forgotten about Mike. I’d also figured she’d have better advice, since she’d been in the industry for so long, and Mike’s just barely older than me.I say my goodbyes, hang up the phone, check to make sure that Gabe hasn’t called me - he hasn’t, the fucker - and then I call Mike.

 

He’s not too thrilled with me either, but he appreciates Jenny’s plan once I explain it. He’s also more than a little pissed that Gabe has gone MIA. “You got into this shit together; you get out of this shit together,” he says gruffly. “He’s not helping anything this way, and in fact he’s probably gonna be hurting you.”

 

“I’m sure he’s just freaked right now,” I say, but I’m not completely convinced myself. “He’ll get back to me soon.”

 

He doesn’t seem all that placated, but he agrees. “I’m going to contact any media outlets I can reach, okay? Talk to Gabe. Goodbye.”

 

Still no contact from Gabe. I sigh. My next move is to call Travie and Sisky, begging them to keep their mouths shut, not to do any interviews, not to tell _anyone,_ not even their family members, that I’d confirmed my relationship with Gabe. They agree. They’re good friends. I feel bad that I don’t get the chance to ask them about their lives, about Sisky’s attempts to get a new job or Travie’s girlfriend problems. Sometimes being an actor means a lot of the rest of your life is completely consumed by your acting problems.

 

I’d let it happen too often with Travie and Sisky. I’d tried not to let it happen with Gabe. Unfortunately, this had been so far beyond our control.

 

I don’t want to call Gabe again. I don’t want to make the one person that I care about more than anything in this fucked up world resent me because I won’t leave him alone. But my phone finds his contact name anyways, because I, _God help me_ , I have to fix this.

 

He doesn’t answer the first time. Nor the second. Nor the third.

 

By the fifth time, I’m not expecting anything. I press the end button once the _voicemail full_ message plays. It’s clear he’s avoiding me - avoiding everyone, maybe, but that everyone includes me, and it hurts. I thought I was the only person he wouldn’t hide himself from.

 

I haven’t known him that long. Clearly I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.

 

I text back all the people in my phone that are frantically texting me, feeding them the bullshit Jenny came up with. Every few minutes I check to see if there’s anything from Gabe.

 

Nothing.

 

Groaning, I fall back onto the pillows. I want to go back to sleep, but at the same time, I also wish to fall asleep and never wake up again.

 

I should _not_ have let Gabe Saporta in.

 

.

 

Five days, and nothing from Gabe. At the advice of my manager and agent, I issue my statement alone. I say that Gabe and I are good friends, that it was a one night thing, that we were both extraordinarily drunk, that we are not, nor have we ever been, in a relationship. The more I say it, the more I start to believe it.

 

Travie and Sisky come over. They treat it like it’s I’m a 13 year old girl who’s just been dumped by her middle school boyfriend, and bring over ice cream and awful movies for us to laugh at. It’s tough, though, because I don’t know if I’ve been broken up with. I want to cry on Sisky’s shoulder and accept Travie’s comforting cuddles and shit-talk Gabe into oblivion, but I feel bad doing it when I have no idea what’s going on between the two of us. I’m also starting to worry. Is he alive? Is he doing okay?

 

“What if I file a police report?” I ask, leaning into Travie’s side.

 

Travie just sighs. “Bill, you know they don’t give a shit about what Gabe does. He’s a grown ass man. They ain’t gonna mess with his business.”

 

“But what if he’s dead?” I groan.

 

“He’s not dead,” Sisky says through a bite of ice cream. “He’s just a chicken.”

 

“How do you know?” I demand.

 

“I have, like, ESPN or something,” Sisky says, laughing.

 

“Great,” I say, burying my head in Travie’s shoulder. “Turns out we are thirteen year old girls.”

 

I practically jump out of my skin when my phone starts to ring. Sisky and Travie give me identical looks, the kind that say that they’ll be pissed if I forgive Gabe that easily. I’m weak and I probably would, but it’s not Gabe. It’s Pete.

 

I flash the caller ID to my friends, and though they look as confused as I feel, they nod and let me walk to the kitchen to take the call. “Pete,” I say as I answer the phone, hoping to convey a bit of my confusion. I’d talked to him a few days ago, after all of this had leaked, and he’d accepted the whole drunk story pretty easily, since he’d had more than a few drunk gay encounters himself.

 

“Fuck,” Pete says. Hell of a way to answer a call, I think. He breathes pretty heavily a couple of times, and I’m starting to worry if this is a drunk call or a butt dial or something when he says, “You need to talk to your boyfriend.”

 

Anger builds up in my chest, threatens to overwhelm the dam I’ve so carefully constructed. I want to scream into the phone. Instead, what I say primly is, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“This isn’t a fucking game, Bill,” Pete says, and he sounds pissed, even though I haven’t fucking done anything. “I knew already, everyone did, but Gabe told me the entire story, dude.”

 

“Then you should know that I didn’t do shit,” I reply, trying to keep my voice at an even tone. “I’ve been trying to call him for days. I’m worried sick about his miserable ass. And he can’t even text me, won’t call me, and hasn’t released a statement, so he’s just making me look worse. I don’t know what I did.” I bite my lip. “Uh, what the hell did I do?”

 

Pete pauses for a second, then sighs. “You didn’t do anything. I’m not mad at you. I’m just… worried as shit, and maybe I’m a little pissed that I had to figure it out on my own, and that you tried to lie to me, but I get it. I just… I get that Gabe’s being a little bitch, but he’s fucked up right now. I don’t know what else to do.”

 

“What happened?” I ask, all the anger flying out of me at once. Worry for Gabe trumps anger any day. Maybe it’s a weakness, but right now I don’t give a shit.

 

“I went to his house after I didn’t hear from him for a few days,” Pete says. “You probably know this, but Gabe’s usually annoying as fuck. He won’t leave you alone if he likes you, and we’re close, so I worried when he didn’t return my calls or texts. When I got there, though, he was on the ground. He was super shitfaced. I couldn’t really understand anything he was saying, so I took the alcohol from him and waited while he sobered up. And then he started crying and I was like, what the fuck, I’ve never seen him cry before, this shit must be serious. And he spilled the whole story, all of it.” He pauses again, sounding a little choked up himself. “Look, Bill, he’s a total asshole. I’ve known him for five years now and he’s been an asshole for all of them. Don’t expect that to change. But he really, really cares about you, and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”

 

I’m only silent for a second. “I’m going.”

 

.

 

Travie and Sisky say I’m way too soft, but I don’t care. I drive a little above the speed limit, the fastest I’ve ever driven probably, to Gabe’s house. I slam the car door behind me, hoping it’ll give him some kind of a signal, and march up to his door, giving it a few harsh knocks.

 

He opens it on the fifth knock. Honestly, I think Gabe’s probably one of the most attractive men I’ll ever meet, but right now he looks like shit - circles under his eyes, hair a mess, smudges on his face from God knows what. I feel myself soften a little. At least he hasn’t been partying it up without me.

 

“Bilvy,” is all he says. It sounds defeated. He steps out of the way so that I can come in, and I do, careful not to touch him. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.

 

“Gabe…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say.

 

“Come on,” he says, and on instinct I follow him into the den. He sits on the couch. I sit beside him, careful to leave a distance between the two of us.

 

“If you wanted this to be over, all you had to do was say so,” I say after a beat. “That’s what I got from your silence, at least.”

 

“Fuck,” he says, clenching his fists. “No, Bill, that’s not what I wanted. That’s the opposite of what I wanted - what I want.”

 

“Then what do you want?” I ask. None of this adds up. People don’t disappear on their significant others when they want to be with them. That’s just…. that makes _no sense_.

 

“I want you,” he croaks out, looking at me with his gorgeous brown eyes all wide. I’m tempted to forget all of this and just grab onto him, like I’m drowning and he’s the only person who can rescue me. I don’t move, though, and he keeps going. “Fuck, Bill, fuck. I found out that some fuckhead ratted us out and I figured it was over and I didn’t - I couldn’t deal with that. Plus even admitting that I did shit with you was coming out, saying I do shit with guys, and I’m not ready for that either, and I fucked up so fucking badly, I know it. I just freaked out. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“You can’t run away from your problems, asshole,” I say. I move a little closer, place one hand on his cheek, and he smiles and leans into it a little bit. “Look, I’m fucked up too, okay? The last relationship I was in…” _Don’t think about it,_ my brain warns, but this time, I ignore it. I have to. I have to be honest. “The last relationship I was in with, um, with Tom, he cheated on me. He left me completely broken. I was so fucked up for such a long time. And I wasn’t sure if I could ever trust again, but then… then you came along. And I… it was so different, so _good_ , and I was finally getting back to that level of trust. And then you fucking disappeared on me. I thought we were over, holy shit. You scared me to death.”

 

“I’m sorry, Bilvy. I didn’t mean to… oh my God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says sincerely, leaning in to kiss me lightly.

 

I pull back after just a second, lingering close to him. “When did you last eat? You look like shit.”

 

He looks sheepish. “Uh, maybe yesterday? I… I kind of forgot. About eating.”

 

I sigh, burying my face into his shoulder, feeling warm as he wraps his arms around me. Once he lets go, I get up and head into his kitchen. “I’m making you some goddamn soup. And don’t you even try to stop me.”

 

I hear his laugh from the couch, and my whole body feels warm. Travie and Sisky are right. I’m way too soft.

 

I fire a text off to Pete - _all good._ He replies - _keep it that way_.

 

.

 

“Look, I don’t want to talk about this, but we have to,” I tell him as we lay in his bed, side by side.

 

“I know,” he says. I feel his chest rise and fall, gathering the strength to say, “Let’s do this.”

 

“Okay,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him. “Uh, first of all. We… you… well, it’s weird to say, but um, are you in this for the long term?”

 

He laughs. For a second I think I’ve offended him or scared him off, but all he says is, “Bilvy, baby, you fucked up my entire worldview, my sexuality, and my career. You pretty much saved me from myself. I’d be damned if I let you out of my sight any time in the next twenty years.”

 

I can feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks. He’s too damn smooth. I just nod, though, hiding my face in my hand a little bit, and say, “Okay, good to know. Well, then, I get if you’re not ready to come out yet, but…”

 

“I’m ready,” he interrupts.

 

I stare at him in disbelief. “You just said a few hours ago that you ignored me and everyone else in the world because you weren’t ready to come out and you weren’t ready for people to know about us and all of that.”

 

“I know, and I was a fucking idiot. You know that, the world knows that. But… Bill. The movie’s so successful even without our dramatic bullshit." Which is true, I realize. I haven't been paying the reviews and the sales as much attention as I probably should've, but from what I've heard from Travie and Sisky and even Pete, we've been doing pretty damn well. And, well, this whole scandal definitely didn't hurt. "Everyone knows, or at least suspects anyways. And me… I didn’t think I was ready, but then I went a few days without you, and I realized that absolutely nothing, not my own security, _nothing,_ is worth losing you. And I know you’ll wait for me, but I don’t want that. I want to be with you. In front of the whole damn world.”

 

I can feel my face breaking into a smile, a smile that’s quickly mirrored on Gabe’s face. He knows he’s got me right where he wants me. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced into anything. I can wait for however long you need.”

 

“I want this,” he insists, his hand cupping my face softly. “I want this, I want you, and I want everyone to know. I’m ready. I’ll prove it to you, okay?”

 

“How?”

 

He just winks. My cheeks burn even more. Damn him and the effect he has on me. Damn it all.

 

Not that I’m really complaining.

 

.

 

We end up on a talk show, our chairs touching, our hands intertwined. The host looks between the two of us, a grin on her face. “Good to see that everything turned out for the best. Bill, you came out publicly saying that the incident between the two of you was just a one time thing. Now you’re saying the two of you are in a committed relationship. What changed?”

 

“Well, Amy, that’s a great question,” I say, feeling my heart beat a little faster. I glance over at Gabe, who’s still beaming at me, his face the picture of earnest happiness. It gives me the nerve to continue. “I, well, we’ve been in a relationship for a couple of months now, but we weren’t really ready to come out publicly. We thought it’d mess up the movie, people would go see it for the wrong reasons and stuff. But then… then we realized that it was kind of too late, everyone probably figured it out anyways, so we might as well come out. Plus, well, it was driving us a little crazy holding it in.”

 

Gabe squeezes my hand. “Don’t you all dare go see the movie because it’s a ‘gay love story in the movie and in real life’. See it because it’s a fucking fantastic film. Shit, am I allowed to say that on TV?”

 

The host just laughs. “It’ll be fine. We'll bleep it out. Just thank God this isn't live. Now Gabe, tell me, did playing a gay character help you come to terms with your own sexuality in any way?”

 

Gabe subtly rolls his eyes at me. I try not to snicker as he says, “Uh, yeah, a little bit. I’d always just kind of assumed I was straight, and…”

 

By the time the interview ends, we’re both kind of exhausted. Outside of the doors to the studio, though, we’re confronted with a ton of people. Some of them are beaming at us, yelling stuff like “We love Gabilliam”, and one kid is holding a sign that says “You helped me come to terms with my own sexuality! THANK YOU!”. It’s kind of heartwarming. Other people, though, don’t look so pleased.

 

“You’re ruining the youth of America,” one man yells. Another man tries to shove his sign in our faces: BOYCOTT GABE SAPORTA AND HIS GAY AGENDA. Another person yells, “I can’t believe you brainwashed Gabe into thinking he’s gay!”

 

At this point, I’m used to it. When I first started out, the verbal abuse was shocking. It felt like a slap in the face every time, reminiscent of the shit my mom had spewed at me for so long. Now it’s all just the same bullshit, repeated on a constant loop. I just sigh and grab Gabe’s hand. “Ignore it. Focus on what matters, all right?”

 

“So, you?” he says with a goofy smile.

 

I glance down, my cheeks warming. “Yeah. Focus on me.”

 

.

 

_2 Years Later_

 

“Gabe, if you don’t hurry your ass up, we’re gonna be late!” I yell into our bedroom.

 

My boyfriend appears beside me, his typical up-to-no-good smile on his face. “Look, Bilvy, I know you’re anal retentive about being on time, but Travie and Sisky are used to it. I’m pretty sure they’ve started telling us a time fifteen minutes before they actually want to meet us at this point.”

 

“We’re gonna get mobbed the second we set foot outside anyways, so you've gotta add fifteen minutes for this,” I grumble.

 

Gabe kisses my cheek. “You're cute when you're pissed. I’m almost ready, I swear. Just gotta grab something.” He darts back into the bedroom. It’s kind of odd, but he’s so weird that I’ve stopped questioning it at this point.

 

I’m right - the second we make it to the car, some weird ass paparazzi start yelling at us about where we’re going. Gabe yells back at them about a restraining order, which makes them scatter, and he smiles a satisfied smile at me.

 

“It’s ‘cause _West to East_ was just released,” I grumble. “It was too damn good, Gabriel. You’re making us get harassed even more than usual.”

 

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why. It’s not because the whole country’s in love with you and your ‘wholesome personality’ or anything.”

 

“I’m just nice,” I say defensively. “And I don’t talk about ass all the time.”

 

“That was one time,” Gabe says as he starts the car. I give him a dubious stare, and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe five times. Fuck, maybe fifteen. I just can’t help it, _querido._ Your ass is just too appetizing.”

 

I swat at him, making him laugh. Finally, we get inn the damn car and drive to the restaurant, and we’re only fifteen minutes late. Travie and Sisky don’t look too surprised, or even too upset, which is odd because usually they bitch at us about being late. And, even more surprising, our party is six instead of four. Pete shows up, dragging Patrick by the hand, and both of them overwhelm me with hugs.

 

“You didn’t tell me they were coming,” I whisper to Gabe as we walk to the table.

 

“Fuck, it must have slipped my mind,” Gabe says, squeezing my hand. “I’m an idiot, I swear.”

 

"You've got a lot on your mind," I reassure him. He'd just released a new movie, after all. I don't blame him for forgetting about some of the smaller things.

 

The meal is great. Pete talks about his new movie, starring Gerard, and how Frank, who’s working as his manager (and simultaneously managing to keep up with one of his million bands), is probably the most annoying manager he’s ever worked with. Patrick snorts. “I’d think since you’re both short tattooed freaks you’d get along.”

 

“You’re tiny too,” Pete shoots back. “Plus, I’m like a million times more lovable.”

 

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes. Gabe snorts.

 

The meal just gets weirder, though, because after dessert, Frank and Gerard show up, almost like they’ve been summoned by Pete talking shit about them. And then Ryan, and then Brendon, and then Vicky, and then the waiter shows up with a cake with a candle on it and a ring around the candle, and oh shit I’m a complete idiot.

 

My face goes a deeper shade of red than I ever knew possible as Gabe takes the ring off the cake and gets down on one knee in front of me. “William Eugene Beckett,” he says seriously. “You are everything to me. You’re the reason I get out of bed in the morning. You’re the reason I know what love is. Hell, you’re the reason I figured out I like dick.” Pete practically chokes at this. I pointedly ignore him, keeping my eyes on Gabe. “You’re the best person in this world, and I’ve met a lot of fine people, so that’s a pretty damn big compliment. But I’ve never met someone as genuine as you, as caring as you, as kind as you, as big-hearted as you, and with half as great an ass as yours. I don’t ever want to have to be apart from you. I love you more than I love... well, anything. And so, uh… will you marry me?”

 

I glance around at all the shiny, hopeful, happy faces around me - all the people that have supported us wholeheartedly through the years, my best friends, my family, the ones who have accepted me when my real family completely rejected me. (Fuck you, Mom.) And then I glance back at Gabe, at the expression on his face I immediately know is concern, which I don’t understand at all because he should know me well enough by now to know that there is no way in hell I could ever turn down this proposal.

 

“Yes,” I say, so quietly that I barely even hear it. I get up, walk towards him, fling my arms around him. “Yes, holy shit, yes, of course,” I repeat in a louder tone, feeling my voice crack as I do so. I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna fucking cry. Not here.

 

Gabe kisses me, and for a second I’m scared that I actually am somehow unconsciously crying, but then I realize they’re his tears, not mine. Thank God. We pull away, and I roll my eyes at him. “As if I’d say no, idiot.”

 

“Hey, you call me an idiot at least twenty times a day,” Gabe replies, feigning offense. “Maybe you’ve decided to go for someone smarter. Like Travie. That man’s a genius.”

 

“Truth,” Travie says with a nod.

 

“You’re my idiot, stupid. I love you,” I say in response as we sit back down together. I’m really hoping no one else will hear it, but of course I’m not that lucky. Frank makes a loud gagging noise. Gerard hits him on the shoulder lightly, frowning down at his boyfriend.

 

“If anyone tries to protest at your wedding, I’ll personally fight them,” Gerard says serenely.

 

Frank giggles. “Gee, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.”

 

“Flies might have feelings too, you never know,” Gerard tells him, crossing his arms.

 

Pete bursts out laughing obnoxiously again, making everyone around us glare at him. I don’t even mind, though, this time. I just lean into Gabe’s arm and smile up at him. My fiancé, holy shit. I’m getting married to Gabe Saporta. If anyone had told me this three years ago, my mind would’ve damn near imploded.

 

He kisses me on the forehead. “We did it,” he whispers.

 

“We did,” I reply, leaning closer in. I zone back into the main conversation, where Sisky is telling some story about some shit that happened while he was on tour with his new band and Travie, who’s been opening for Sisky’s band, is joining in. Who knew Sisky was such a showman? It’s all perfect. Almost too perfect, in a way, but who am I to complain.

 

“I almost feel like some homophobe should be showing up and complaining about right now,” Gabe whispers into my ear.

 

I laugh. “We might need to be a bit more obvious for that. I should’ve worn a rainbow suit.”

 

“I can ask the waiter if they have a rainbow tablecloth,” Gabe suggests.

 

The moment of peace is broken, though, when a fan comes up and asks for a picture with both of us. We glance at each other, at my ring, and then just shrug. “Sure,” we say, almost in unison. This is what we’ve signed up for, anyways.

 

And really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

.

 

_Gabe Saporta and William Beckett of **After the Last Midtown Show**_ _\- engaged?! Fan photo shows William wearing a gaudy ring._

 

__Gabe and William started dating a_ fter working together in **After the Last Midtown Show.**  The movie became an instant classic, especially after the love story between the two leads became public. William has continued to prove himself in his career, though, with starring roles in a variety of films, and Gabe has continued to impress us in (almost) everything he's been in (let's all try to forget about Pleasure Ryland!). Power couple, much?!_

_Congratulations to the two of them - and let's hope they'll continue to be one of the cutest couples in Hollywood!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost nauseatingly cute. I'm so sorry. It ended up being fluffier than I expected. But I hope this is a satisfactory ending for all of you! Please, please comment/kudos if you enjoyed :)


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